paint the sky black
by Searching.For.Enadi
Summary: Holding the ornate box in her hands, she begins to consider the very likely possibility that she is, in fact, the dumbest person alive. (OC!Marinette who doesn't realize it until it's far too late).
1. Chapter 1: Awakening

**paint the sky black**

**(author's note at the bottom)**

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**Chapter 1: Awakening**

**(French edited thanks to Dame Amaryllis!)**

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It starts out like this:

She is born on the dawn of a bright summer day. Her arrival comes with little fanfare; after the long night before, it's far too early in the morning for any sort of celebration. Still, despite the exhaustion lining their faces, her parents watch her in quiet wonder.

(Years from this moment, she will blame it all on cosmic intervention. Cosmic intervention, because clearly _someone up there should be held responsible_ \- ).

It all comes down to the ridiculous timing, of course. Ridiculous timing for the sun to rise at the very moment she is placed in her mother's arms. Ridiculous timing for its rays to brush against her near transparent hair, like feathers braided on a crown.

"She's beautiful," her father will whisper, awe lining his words. "She'll bring light to the entire world, our beautiful daughter."

"A lucky charm," her mother will then softly agree with fond eyes. "She'll make it a better place; make _us _better people."

Her father coos in response, more praise ready to leave his mouth, like little gems falling from his lips - )

They name her Marinette, for it is "she who raises." For she will be the one who brings them up, who will rise to the occasion, pull the light from the darkness, yadah, yadah.

It was a romantic thought. Probably felt appropriate in the moment, like destiny calling for its champion.

(Romantic or not, fate is fickle towards its fools.

The story of Marinette Dupain-Cheng begins in light and ends in something much, much darker).

No, like, actually. Color scheme and all - everything becomes much, much darker.

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To the parents of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, their daughter is just a little strange, drifting off into space at the most opportune moments. There are moments of clumsiness, of sudden excitement and sadness that pass by so quickly they almost seem imagined. It's enough to give any inexperienced parent whiplash, but they love her all the same, quirks and all, and chalk it all up to her young age.

For Marinette herself, the awareness of her oddness grows with every year.

It starts off subtle at first. She finds herself drawn to her mother's home language, her father's macarons, the fireflies dancing past her eyes.

Visions of cities she's never been to, cravings of food she's never tasted. Her eyes dance across the streets of Paris and she finds herself a bit displaced.

Nevertheless, she grows as any child should, young and carefree, despite the sense of acknowledgement that she is _different_. She doesn't know what that different could be, isn't quite aware that such a difference _exists, _but still, Marinette lives her early life in contentment.

She is raised with happiness, with care, with love and affection. Her parents are great caretakers, even if they're a little over the top, because their talent for macarons are _off the charts - _

"_Marinette!_"

She freezes, sweaty hands hovering above the oven tray, two of the sweets already stuffed into her mouth.

"_Marinette,_" her mother walks in with an exasperated look, flour dusting her hands and apron. "_What did I tell you about eating Papa's pastries before dinner?_"

"... _Don't do it?"_ Marinette guesses, after swallowing the macarons as swiftly as possible. She flushes and opens her mouth to apologize, in French, "_Sorry -"_

Wait, in French?

Well, yes, of course in French, she thinks, just a tad annoyed at herself. What else would she be speaking?

_Of all languages, _an abstract part of her grumbles, _out of all the possible languages in this world, I'm stuck with French - _

"_Marinette!_" her mother's face looms in front of her and she jumps to attention. "_My goodness, girl, you've been so absent minded these days." _

"_Sorry, Mama,_" she goes for a sheepish smile, her previous bitterness flying far away from her mind. "_Can I help with dinner then?_"

"_That would be wonderful,_" her mother returns the smile with a gentle touch. "_We can make your favorite soup_."

In the face of mouth-watering broth, Marinette blinks away any weird thoughts and takes her mother's offered hand with glee.

(She's only five - what does she know about the existential realm?).

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At the age of six, when she blows out the candles on an extravagant cake, she decides that she is indeed, very different.

_There must be a reason,_ she guesses, taking a disgustingly huge bite out of her cake. _It'll come in its own time. _

She goes for another bite - and then catches her mother's stern look - before primly taking a much smaller portion.

_All in due time, _she thinks cheerfully, and wolfs down the rest of the cake.

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(A year later, her reason comes in the form of falling down two flights of stairs and landing painfully on harsh gravel.

Something rushes through her head - a breeze, the wind? - and fireworks spark behind her eyes. Stars circle her vision, white spots glaring brightly, a burning, ripped feeling on her chin -

Then, nothing).

A few hours later, she wakes to the smell of anesthetic and emptiness filling her lungs.

"_Mon Dieu, Marinette, j'_é_tais si inquiète!"_ her mother exclaims, rising from her seat next to the swathing white bed._ "Comment ça va?"_

_Is that French? _Marinette (though she does not realize it yet) thinks as she takes in the sore pain spreading throughout her body. Eyes blink at the two adults hovering over her.

"Where am I?" she asks, but sucks for her because she's French now, even if she doesn't know it yet, and what comes out instead is, "_Où suuuuis-jeeeeee?_"

_What the actual fuck, _is her next appropriate thought, and then considers a probable possibility.

_Am I dead?_

(As it turns out, at one point that certainly _was _the case.

Now… well, one can't be too sure anymore).

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Her (new? old? current?) parents take the news of her apparent loss of memories as well as any other set of parents would. Not incredibly well, but with as much grace and hope as they can muster.

She appreciates the effort, even though amnesia isn't _exactly _what she would call her current situation. Perhaps "the realization of the soul" would be more accurate, or spiritually, she would be a case of "reincarnation."

Details aside, Marinette is still Marinette, with just an extra dash of Before-Marinette to make things a bit more exciting. She's got over two decades of Before to deal with along with the seven years she's got here in Paris under her belt.

_Piece of cake, _she crows victoriously, while relishing the taste of actual cake in her mouth. The cream filling melts in her mouth and she nearly cries at its beauty.

_God bless, _she thinks, nearly shoveling the entire dessert into her mouth.

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"Marinette," her mother approaches her one evening, kneeling gently next to her little table of drawings. "It's been three_ semaines, penses-tu pouvoir retourner à_ school?"

At the familiar word, Marinette looks up from her doodles of roses. She's clever enough to connect the dots.

But school? Clumsily, she asks, "_Semaines_?"

Her mother pauses for a brief moment before letting a sigh. "_Je vais prendre ça pour un non..._"

"Yeah, you're right, mum. We should totally wait a little longer until I get the hang of this new language," is what she wants to say, but since her list of words is limited to five words, she instead carefully pronounces, "_D'accord!_"

Going back to public school? No thank you, she'll enjoy her unfortunate condition for as long as it takes.

Warm lips press against her forehead and Marinette leans into the heat.

"_Occupe-toi juste de_ getting better," her mother murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair from Marinette's face. "_Je t'aime, ma fille_."

In the slightest of moments, far too quickly for her mother to catch, Marinette pauses, before cheerfully returning the words she had practiced for many nights before. "I love you too!"

(It's not a lie, because she _is _Marinette, but Before-Marinette had _her _own parents and it's only just a _little _bit awkward at the moment).

She is rewarded with an enveloping, firm hug that conveys her mother's thoughts far more than what words ever could.

The door closes with a soft click, and in that silence, she takes in the baby blue walls around her.

A considering hum resonates in her throat.

"School?" Marinette collapses onto the floor with a loud huff. "Sounds hard."

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It takes her another year to barely pass France's language standards for public schooling. By then, Marinette has completely immersed herself into French culture out of sheer desperation.

(There comes a point where repeating the same motions get tiring, and the amount of times she's had to make the universal sign for bathroom is getting a little ridiculous…).

A heavy debate takes place on whether she should return to her former school. What if more familiar faces jog back her memory? What if she's bullied for not being as developed as the other kids? What if, what if, what if?

In the midst of such a topic, Marinette (who hasn't actually, really lost her memories - or at least, she certainly hopes not) decides these kinds of decisions can be left to the adults, and quietly steals away to her room above.

The calm shades of pastel blue in her room never fail to make her smile, but alas, she's a lady on a mission today.

With a grunt, she grabs her miniature chair and lifts it gently, careful to not let it scrape against the floor. A few minutes of labor and she's on top of it, stretching to reach the highest point of her bookshelf.

"C'mon," she mutters, the slightest hint of a lisp still lingering with her words. "Come to me, baby, you're okay, come on."

It's tough work but she makes due with _sheer persistence_. Her efforts are rewarded with a heavy _thump_, the weight of the bulky CD player landing in her arms and nearly knocking her off the chair.

"Okay, almost died there, but that's fine, no problem," Marinette blabbers as she hums an upbeat tune. Placing the player onto her desk with gentle care, she caresses its cold surface lovingly. "Lots of time for fun, yup, yup!"

Still humming, she plugs the player in and turns it on. An awkward minute of silence passes as she waits with bated breath, until -

Soft, taps on the high hat, a lilting melody from the trumpet, and the growing sounds of jazz creep through the speakers. The music grows to a swell, picking up in speed and, in response, she raises the volume to its highest level.

The jazz band is in full swing, trombones sliding from note to note, and anticipation shakes her tiny, little bones. Two more measures and then -

Grabbing a nearby pen, Marinette brings it dangerously close to her face and inhales deeply,

"_It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing,_" She bellows in her high-pitched voice. As always, her English is impeccable. Her knees slam to the floor as she nearly screams, "_DOO WAH, DOO WAH, DOO WAH, DOO WAH, DOO WAH, DOO WAH, DOO WAH, DOO WAH -_"

At this point, her parents have had enough time to get a clue of her antics and, unsurprisingly, the sound of hurried steps precedes the trap door opening with a slam.

"_Marinette!_" Her father calls out, a smile hidden behind his beard, while her mother looks far more stern. "What did I say about using the CD player?"

"_It makes no difference if it's sweet or HOT,_" she continues, shuffling in place, her pen in both hands. When a short interlude comes by, she turns to her parents with a sheepish smile. "Uh, keep it down?"

By the time she's changed her dancing steps to use her pen as a cane, her father has long since joined her, with the remaining member of the family laughing helplessly into her hands.

(Six months later, her parents gift her with an old, but fairly good trumpet and absolutely no one is surprised when she bursts into sudden tears.

It's not the same as before, no, but it's a piece of her heart nonetheless).

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Before Marinette's untimely (but probably very necessary) accident, she had been slated to enter an accelerated program that would find her finishing her education much faster than others.

Now, with the abrupt switch in "cognitive ability," she is back to where the rest of her peers stand.

("Stunted," is what they all say, but bah! Wait till she hits English class - she'll throw each and every other kid's ass into the air with Shakespearen lines she'll have memorized the night before).

She's not entirely bothered by the apparent delay. That just leaves her more time to bake, to play, to dance and sing. It gives her more time to simply _live,_ to explore the streets of a city she's never been to Before, to serenade the people of the City of Love with her trumpet -

"_Marinette Dupain-Cheng!_"

With a silent curse, Marinette lowers the trap door to her room and tries very hard to hide any hint of her guilt as she walks down the stairs.

"Yes, Maman?" she asks, the perfect look of innocence. "Did you need help in the bakery? I was _just _about to put my things away."

Her mother folds her arms and Marinette knows better than to wince, but nearly does so anyway.

"You've been out on the streets again, haven't you?" the woman, although only a few centimeters taller than Marinette, seems to tower over everything else. "Even though I told you not to?"

"Nope!" Marinette says, lying through her dirty, deceitful teeth. "I have done no such thing."

At that same, precise moment, a bill for five euros floats elegantly onto the floor between the two.

"_I give you ten percent of all my earnings!" _Marinette shrieks, in pain or in dramatism, she isn't too sure, but regardless, the tugs to her ear still hurt. "I have been a _faithful _daughter!"

"You can be a faithful daughter by washing the dishes for the rest of the month!" Her mother snaps back, in Chinese this time, which means oh man, she must be _pissed._ "I've been telling you for so long to stop wandering around so late, haven't I?"

"I'm sorry, Mama," Marinette pleads, switching to Chinese as well because she knows her mother has a soft spot for it. With a quick twist, she escapes from the hold on her ear and rushes to the sink. "I'll start doing the dishes right away, yes."

There is a moment of silence, filled with the jarring clanks of tableware.

The punishment isn't so much a surprise, but the sudden burn in her eyes certainly is.

"Oh, Marinette," An arm wraps around her shoulders as soon as the sniffling begins to start. "I'm just worried for your safety. You're only _ten_."

A part of her wants to wail. In fury, in frustration because she can feel herself running around in circles, head winding up and down. She rubs her eyes furiously - man, _fuck _these hormones.

"I, I'm sorry, Maman," She croaks, cheeks flushing fiercely. "I just, I feel like I'm going _crazy, _being here all the time."

It's just… she's not a _child_. But as it is, with how she looks to everyone else, she might as well be.

"Oh, Marinette," Her mother says again, with a deep sigh. "Maybe your father and I made a mistake, sending you to a new school…"

"I don't need my old school," Marinette sniffs, disgusted at her runny nose. "I need to _do _things."

Her mother looks contemplative at those words.

"We can talk about it more when your father finishes work," the woman says decisively. "Until then, you're to come straight back after band rehearsal. I'll be extending your punishment by a week every time you're late."

On any other day, Marinette would have protested - set up a compromise, plead for a shorter sentence. But her sudden emotional upheaval leaves her exhausted, and so she whispers a solemn agreement.

She returns to her room sullenly, collapsing onto her bed and resting the back of her hand on her forehead.

"Still ten, huh?" she murmurs, eyes closing at the very last memory from before.

The truth of the matter remains: Marinette knows intimately that nothing is _always safe_. She hates herself for knowing it, hates herself for worrying her mother, hates herself for going out anyway.

She's lived nearly three decades and that kind of lifestyle is what ultimately led to her death, after all. Left her swimming through a river of red.

(A near disgusting thought enters: could she have been courting a reenactment? _Looking _for it?)

"They never said it would be this hard," her voice spreads outward, thinly, and briefly, she remembers that she needs to brush her teeth before going to sleep. Can't ruin these perfectly good teeth.

Her lungs expand, the fears encased in her body rushing erratically through her veins.

"I'm sorry, Mama," she whispers to the darkness of the room. "What a disappointing daughter I must be."

(Would she stop her antics? _Could _she?

But she needs to see for herself. Needs to keep taking steps forward, _needs to not look back. _

What happens if she stops? Stops looking at this new, amazing world, and sits here, wallowing in her memories?

If she doesn't leave, if she doesn't confirm it, if she doesn't make sure that the outside world is okay, will she be left here, a husk of herself, fearful of taking a single step outside?)

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Months pass and eventually, Marinette's punishment is lifted. The incident, however, is not forgotten.

"What would _you _like to do?" her father asks one summer day. He hands her a whisk and, delighted, she sets off to beating her cream into submission. "You're always moving about, trying to do so many things at once. I think it would be good for you to have something to focus on."

"Well, there's band at school," she points out, bringing the whisk to her mouth to have a taste. It only results in the entire bowl being taken out of her hands, and she sighs in disappointment. She adds, "But the trumpet is a means, not a solution."

"I see," her father says, a look of confusion across his face. "I'm not too sure what you mean by that, but your busking will have to stop. It's time you find a safer outlet."

Marinette brings her palms to her burning cheeks.

"B-Busking?" she sputters. Her feet stomp on the ground. "It's not b-busking! It's more beautiful than that. I'm _serenading _the people of Paris."

"More like you're tooting at them and then they take pity on you," her father jokes, laughing heartily at her offense.

They spend the day away in the bakery, kneading dough, sifting flour, dusting sugar - oh man, oh man, is she drooling?

"They're beautiful," Marinette whispers, swooning at the sight of chocolate melting through the croissants. "My babies," She coos.

"Pfft, alright, princess," wide, strong arms pick her up and away from the oven. "Let's go get some dinner."

"_Yes, _dinner! I love dinner!" Marinette cheers. Her father is absolutely _built _and has no trouble running through the house at her command, lifting her above his head like a sumo wrestler.

Their reign of terror only stops when an even bigger threat stands in their way. Scolding them fiercely for the amount of flour they've tracked into the living room floor, her mother stands with her hands on her hips as both Marinette and her father sulk back down the stairs, off to grab brooms to clean up the mess.

"I'll figure something out eventually," she tells him once he tosses her a dust pan. "You know how it is, Papa. I always do."

"I'm sure you will, little dove," he presses his lips on her forehead and she preens at the contact. "I never doubted you for a moment."

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It's the anniversary of her parents' wedding and like always, the family of three go out to splurge on a nice dinner.

They're on their way back home after eating at a fancy Italian restaurant, walking down the brightly lit streets of Paris. Her parents leisurely stroll down the cobblestone road a few paces ahead of her, arms linked and leaning close together.

Behind them, Marinette skips lightly from side to side, relishing the clicks her feet make against the pavement. At the sight of her mother slowly resting her head against her father's arm, she slows down to a halt, and feels the corners of her mouth lift.

"Love, huh?" she says out loud, her voice soft and wistful. But it's a sound no ten-year-old should make and so she skips right on ahead, twirling to a tune in her head, swinging around the black lampposts.

She follows her parents as they make a turn, her heels stumbling as they try to match the beat of the rhythm only she can hear when abruptly, an achingly familiar melody hits her ears.

Almost as if someone has pulled on her arm, Marinette halts, her entire body lurching to the direction of the music.

Her head moves desperately to the left as her feet scramble forward.

There, there, there! She stares at the television inside an electronic store, chest heaving at the sudden movement. On the screen is a young girl, hair as black as night with pearls intertwined in the strands.

She's dressed in a brilliant red gown that goes down to the floor. Sitting on a bench, shoulders hunched over, fingers moving rapidly across a polished keyboard.

_It's a Yamaha CFX, _Marinette notes distantly, hungrily taking in the grand piano, full of bright, colorful sounds. Behind it stands an orchestra, the gleam of the brass instruments near blinding.

Marinette _knows _this piece. Despite her love for jazz, _that _is what she had done in her life before.

Marinette knows the Schumann concerto like it's the back of her hand, and all she can do is stare, transfixed as the orchestra swells to the climax of the piece's third movement.

The pianist is quite good, her runs clean and her octave jumps precise. Hands moving rapidly in succession, the violins behind her crescendoing to an overwhelming volume and -

Something wet and warm lands on her cheek.

"Oh," Marinette says dumbly as her entire world blurs. The sweet melody pounding in her ears, her chest turning and twisting, shivers along her back.

Her fingers are numb, and ringing in the faint distance, her parents call out her name.

All too aware of herself, she wipes furiously at her eyes and turns, walking away from the performance as it concludes to the thundering applause of its audience.

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"Dancing?" Marinette wrinkles her nose, trumpet mouthpiece in hand because her embouchure sucks and she needs the practice. "Like ballet?"

"We were thinking more along the lines of this," her father says after exchanging a glance with her mother. He hands her a slip of paper full of vibrant colors.

"Have your children learn any style of dancing," Marinette reads out loud slowly, her reading skills acceptable but not the best. "We focus particularly on… swing and tap dancing?"

Her eyes shoot up to her parents, their hesitation as clear as day, but all she can think about is that finally, she'll be able to dance with an actual _cane. _

"That would be amazing," she whispers before shrieking when her father lets out a cry of delight and picks up her up like it's nothing.

"You'll have even less free time than before," her mother warns her, though there is an indulgent smile on her lips.

Marinette laughs at the thought because that's _exactly _what she wants.

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**-o-o-o-o-o-**

**notes for the story!**

**\- as you can see, any and every other sin I could've done against this fandom, I have and will do - starting off with an OC!Marinette LOL**

**\- she's quite different, as I'm hoping you've already noticed, but I'm also hoping that the more time you spend with her, the more you'll grow to like her**

**\- the Schumann Piano concerto is an actual piece! It's incredibly beautiful and one of my favorites - there's a specific part at the very, very end that is so sweet and charming and I really encourage you to check it out! If you want links/recommendations or the specific timestamps, feel free to PM me or message me on tumblr!**

**\- the jazz piece Marinette was listening to is a very very famous song called "It don't mean a thing" by Duke Ellington! **

**\- I'm so so excited to draw out the parallel/ironic differences between this story and the actual show, and the more you notice, the more I will trap you into my web muahaha**

**\- the next update won't be too far away, considering I have several chapters already written, so stay tuned!**

**and for general updates!**

**\- I've spent a lot of time on this story, simply because it was such a breath of fresh air for me. I just moved across the country, was dropped from a long-term relationship, etc etc, so I really needed to write something that would make me happy. **

**\- because of this, I'm hoping that this will also be a story that'll give you a break from other things - more than anything else, both Marinette and I are here to tell you that no matter where you are in life, even if you don't realize it now, you're going to be okay. **

**And as always, thank you to all old and new readers! Look forward to more!**

**\- SE**


	2. Chapter 2: Exploring

**Chapter 2: Exploring**

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The summer before her last year in elementary school, Marinette signs up at the dance school, her entire being vibrating from excitement.

She walks into the pasty white building with her mother's hand in tow, and as soon as they enter, muffled sounds of music from different rooms fill the entire lobby.

"Hello! I'd like to sign my daughter up for classes here," her mother's voice captures her attention again and sheepishly, Marinette turns to face the stern faced man at the counter.

"I see," the man says, staring down at her. In return, Marinette sends him her most winning, charming smile. "And what classes would that be?"

"Swing!" Marinette blurts out, bouncing on the heels of her feet. "Or swing, wait no, I already said that, I meant tap!"

"So swing and tap," the man, who probably isn't even over forty, says after a pause. Marinette beams at his rock solid frown and nods. "We do have a children's course for that, but it's already filled."

"What?" Marinette gasps in despair. Before her mother can get a word in, she falls to her knees and pounds the floor with a fist.

"How could this beeeee?" she cries out to the heavens. To the side, her mother lets her head fall into her hands. "Oh, cruel world, you have forsaken meeee - "

"But, as I was saying," the man says over Marinette's wails, "We can certainly squeeze one more person in."

"Oh, that would be wonderful," her mother answers quickly while pulling harshly at Marinette's ears. "For six months, please."

Properly chastised, Marinette stumbles forward as she stands and sends another megawatt grin the man's way.

"Wow, mister," she says with her accursed lisp. "That's very nice of you! Thank you so much!"

"Well, yes, I'm sure it won't be a problem," he pulls up the receipt and hands it to her mother. Then, with an unimpressed, raised eyebrow, he adds, "Especially since I am the instructor for that class."

_I am so dead, _Marinette thinks as she beams under her mother's venomous eyes.

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Her dance classes begin the very next week and, standing in the midst of children of different ages, Marinette makes sure to keep direct eye contact with the instructor.

_Notice me! _Her eyes try to convey with all of her precious, youthful hope.

"Good afternoon, students," the man says in a clipped voice and immediately, the chatter within the room dies to an utter silence. Next to him stands a tall, blonde woman with freckles along her cheeks. "In case you were unaware, I am Marcus Evanson. You may call me by my last name."

Evanson folds his arms together, the action causing the bulky man to appear even bigger.

"By now you should all be familiar with the basics," he continues, slowly walking down the expanse of the practice room. "If you are new and come from another studio, please raise your hand."

_Wait, what? _Marinette blinks as she raises her hand without thinking. _Knowing the basics? From another studio? _

"If you are not confident in your foundations, join my assistant, Sofia, to the left." Evanson gestures to the woman, who gives a small wave. "The rest of you, come with me."

Through sheer process of elimination, Marinette accepts what is her only option and blankly walks to the left, following several other girls and one boy.

"Hello, everyone," Sofia greets cheerfully, in a rich, low voice. Her smile widens at the chorus of responding greetings. "Now, it's completely okay to not be sure of yourself. I'll be here to help you."

They form a single file line along one side of the room, facing the mirrors in front. Marinette, standing in between two girls who are clearly much younger than her, screams silently in panic.

On the other side of the room, a radio is turned on and under Evanson's instruction, the other group begins to pair up.

"Alright, let's start with touch-stepping," Sofia calls, forcing Marinette to bring her attention back to her own group.

_Well, fuck me, _she then thinks, eyes racing over the other students and awkwardly copying their movements. Luckily, the steps are simple and double luckily, Marinette has been born to _breathe _music.

Sofia starts from one side of the line and begins to give clear suggestions for improvement. Through rabid desperation, Marinette strains her ear, quickly adjusting to the instructions.

Her eyes move manically between other students and her own reflection as she attempts to fix her posture.

"Oh my, not bad," Sofia says when she reaches the middle of the line, right where Marinette stands. "Move your left foot a little to the right, yes, good, and you're all set!"

_Wait, that's it? _Marinette nearly blurts out but Sofia is already gone, nearly done with the line at this point.

"Now forward," the teacher calls out and Marinette nearly stumbles when she realizes that she's supposed to _step _forward, not walk forward. "And back. To the side."

"And repeat! Two counts for each foot," And then the entire process starts again.

_Oh my god, what was the order again? _Marinette shifts her gaze to the side, intently watching the girl next to her. All too soon, Sofia returns again to the middle and Marinette tries for a wholesome smile.

"Good, but relax your arms," the instructor commands, forcing Marinette's arms to hang more loosely to her side. "And lighter steps - bounce on your toes."

The suggestions are easy enough and suddenly, Marinette finds herself in a _groove,_ her little preteen arms barely in the way. With a cackle of delight, she pours her excitement into the movements.

(The steps are ridiculously easy, and her posture clearly needs work, but for a brief moment, Marinette feels like she has just flown across the sea).

Eagerly, she turns to the girl next to her, perhaps looking to share her newfound joy, only to be received with a blank, concentrated stare.

_Okay, _she draws the word out in her mind. _I guess it's just me then. _

With a shrug, she continues dancing, swaying her hips from side to side, feeling as if she's on top of the world because clearly, _she's got this in the bag - _

"Okay! Move on to triple-steps!"

_Wait, triple what?_

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**.**

Over the course of summer vacation, Marinette takes to swing dancing like a duck to water. There are moments where she's nearly exposed as a complete noob, but intense focus and practice at home closes the gap quickly enough.

After reading through the flyer again (a bit slower this time), Marinette notices the small print at the bottom.

"Intermediate to Advanced classes only," she squints at the loosely curled words in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? How hard is it to put that in larger print?"

Originally, the plan had been to split her weekly classes between swing and tap, but with the sudden change in difficulty, Marinette quickly decides she'll need all the practice she can get to stay on top of it.

(The idea of dropping altogether _does _cross her mind, and it leaves immediately after. She's in love and isn't that's what matters?).

So she switches to swing dance completely and dedicates three days a week to the class. She considers bringing up the difficulty to her parents before shrugging the thought away, because it hasn't been a problem yet, right?

" - six, seven, eight!" Marinette crashes back to reality at the very last second, stumbling forward as the new phrase begins. Her partner, a young boy with pretty hazel eyes and dark hair, looks at her strangely, before following the routine.

With an apologetic grin, she twirls under his arm, sliding backwards before releasing the grip on her partner's hands. Her arms swing side to side as her partner mirrors the actions, and when she tucks under his arm, a burst of laughter escapes from her lips.

The routine finishes a minute later and Marinette bows dramatically to the scattered applause. Her partner, Dominique, gives a hesitant dip of his head a second later.

"Great job, Dom!" she shakes the boy's hand enthusiastically, perhaps nearly tearing off his arm. "I was kinda nervous at first, but you were so stable - that's super amazing!"

Dominique smiles unassuredly, eyes dizzy from whiplash. "You were quite good by the end. I'm sure practice will smooth out the edges."

_So polite, _Marinette croons, barely able from pinching the boy's cheeks. It would appear strange, unfortunately, considering that they're only a year apart.

"It was also," Dominique continues as they move to sit in a corner, another pair going up to the middle of the room to present their routine. He pauses to consider his words. "It was also the most fun I've ever had with a partner."

"Aw, I had a lot of fun too!" Marinette claps a hand on his shoulder, sparks of joy shooting through her chest. She nudges him right as he moves to take a sip of water. "I hope we'll still be partners even after the recital!"

"Well, yes, we shall see," Dominique coughs as the water slides down his throat before sending her a half-hearted glare, all too used to her antics. "It depends on what M. Evanson decides."

Marinette hums as she turns her attention to the pair finishing up at the center. She claps wholeheartedly as they finish and walk off to the side, the sound incredibly obnoxious compared to the others'.

"Next, Emma and Alexandre," Sofia calls, bringing up an older pair of students. The boy raises his hand stiffly and the girl, Emma, silently takes it.

Music blasts into the practice room, heavy brass sending vibrations across the floor. Without realizing it, Marinette begins tapping the floor, humming along to the melody.

"_It don't mean a thing if you ain't got that swing,_" she half-whispers to herself, nearly shrieking the words from her eagerness. Next to her, Dominique rolls his eyes.

Eyes glued to the pair dancing, Marinette shifts her hands while her legs twitch back and forth, following the pair's motions. The boy, Alexandre, guides his partner with precision, transitioning smoothly from one position to the next.

Meanwhile, Emma glides to the right, arms wide open and spinning with more grace than a twelve-year-old really should ever have. She spins from Alexandre's right arm to the left and gradually, the sight leaves Marinette with an empty chest.

"What's wrong?" Dominique asks quietly as she turns to the side and drinks from her own water bottle. "You've been watching them without stop for the past month. They won't be done for another half minute."

"I know that," Marinette answers, fingers tracing the outline of her bottle. "They're really good, y'know? I just - "

Abruptly, the music cuts off. The dancing pair freeze as all eyes turn to Evanson, who claps once and shakes his head.

"That's enough," the man gestures for the pair to move to the side. "Everyone in the group section, go see Sofia for individual and overall comments. Pairs, to me."

A deathly silence hangs over the entire room. As the students shuffle to their respective places, Dominique bites his lip, worrying the skin. Shaking her head, Marinette bumps into his shoulders and together, they travel to Evanson.

"Okay, listen up," the instructor folds his arms and addresses the group of young children. "When I call your pair, come up and I'll give you your comments. Listen to them carefully and apply them as you practice, because the recital is next week."

"Anna and Oscar," a pair of eight-year-olds shyly walk forward and minutely, Evanson's ever permanent frown loosens.

As their instructor quietly speaks, Marinette bumps her hip to Dominique's side. She looks straight into his wide, panicking eyes and tells him, "We'll be fine, okay? Sure we had a rough start, but that was my fault. We killed it _and _had fun - what else can he say?"

"If only I could be like you, Marinette," the boy shakes his head, though the tension lining his shoulders becomes lighter. He gives her a wry smile, "M. Evanson seems to really like you, so I guess it shouldn't be too bad."

Marinette scrunches her nose at those words. Evanson? Fond of _her? _Her, Marinette, who once was so thrilled at successfully sliding under someone's arm after a twirl, she tumbled forward and slammed into the mirrors, leaving a permanent faint crack in the wall?

Absolutely impossible. It's a miracle in itself that she hasn't been thrown out of the studio, either from her grating personality or inexperience.

Opening her mouth to retort, she is interrupted by Evanson's voice.

"Next, Dominique and Marinette."

"Already?" she hisses in surprise, glancing at the students who have already received their comments. A few sit gloomily while others silently shed a few tears.

Wincing at the sight, she allows Dominique to drag her forward and puts on her Very Charming Smile.

"M. Evanson! Hi!" she beams, completely ignoring Dominque as he sends an elbow into her side. She keeps her voice at an acceptable volume, all too aware of the instructor's easily provoked annoyance.

"Dominique… and Marinette," Evanson greets, reluctance marring his stern features. At Marinette's growing grin, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Pay attention to the beginning," the instructor orders and it is clearly directed towards Marinette. Dominique, in her eyes, can do no wrong. "You're easily distracted and almost lost track of your pulse."

"Yes, sir!" Marinette eagerly answers, already aware of her mistakes, but it's good to have a second opinion. Dominique murmurs an agreement, even though his own start had been perfectly fine.

Evanson pauses, taking in both Marinette and her partner before finally saying, "Okay, good. Go join the other students."

"Wait, that's it - " Already anticipating her words, Dominique slaps a hand over her mouth and tugs her to the side.

"Holy - " Marinette says, only to stop as she becomes completely floored at the realization that she knows _no swear words _in French. She'll have to address that problem immediately. "Did you hear what I just heard?"

"I did," Dominique keeps his voice hushed, and they sit a little way from the rest of their group. "I… was not expecting that."

"I think I'm gonna pass out," Marinette whispers to her friend, a hand to her forehead in preparation to swoon. "Catch me, my prince!"

She falls to the floor, the hard, cold wood digging into her skin.

When she sends a look of utter betrayal, Dominique shrugs and takes another sip of water.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

The second to last rehearsal, the one right before the dress rehearsal, Marinette walks into the practice room to a quiet class and a sobbing girl.

Sliding up to Dominique, she drops her drawstring backpack and ties her jacket along her waist. Despite the summer heat, Evanson enjoys keeping the room awfully cold with the AC running.

"What's going on?" she whispers as everyone else awkwardly stretches, carefully avoiding that one corner with Evanson and a crying Emma.

Dominique rubs his forearm, tugging the sleeves of his shirt, its white color a stark contrast against his olive skin.

"I heard Alexandre suddenly dropped out," he murmurs softly, a look of pity on his baby eleven-year-old face. "With the recital so soon, Emma probably won't be able to perform."

"What? Why not?" Marinette takes another peek at the girl, her tears glistening against pale skin. "Just get her another partner."

Dominique gives her a strange look as they sit down to warm up.

"That's literally impossible," he tells her. The sounds of Sofia trying to comfort the still crying girl reach their ears uncomfortably. "The recital is in less than a week and we don't have enough time, let alone _boys _to cover the part."

Marinette tilts her head while leaning forward, her legs in a near split as she slowly lowers her body.

Unfortunately, as it is with many contemporary dance classes, the ratio of boys to girls in the studio is incredibly unbalanced. Marinette, by sheer luck, is lucky enough to be one of five pairs to perform in the recital.

(With an ironic smile, Marinette remembers when she had been with the other five students, scrambling to learn the basics).

"So what, she can't perform at all?" Marinette asks, taking another glance at Emma. "That's terrible."

Dominique shakes his head. "If she can learn it fast enough, she might be able to join the group performance. Otherwise, she may have to sit this one out."

There is a short moment of silence as Marinette processes that tragedy.

"And she worked so hard for it too," she murmurs softly, thoughtfully, staring after Emma. After a minute of listening to Emma's sniffles, she quickly stands up.

"Marinette?" Dominique makes a belated grab for her arm, alarm clear in his voice. He hisses at her, "Where are you going? Marinette? _Marinette!_"

Practically _skipping _to Evanson's narrowed eyes, Marinette clasps her hands together behind her back and beams.

"M. Evanson," she begins, catching the attention of Sofia and Emma. "I know this may sound crazy, but hear me out! Maybe, just maybe _I _could be Emma's partner for the recital!"

(Behind her, Dominique, who had scrambled to catch her before it was too late, slaps a hand to his forehead).

"That _is _crazy," Evanson says as Emma wipes the tears from her face. "You've never been lead before, let alone learn this particular routine."

Crashing to her knees (and ignoring Dominique's strangled noise of protest), Marinette holds her hands to her face in a beseeching manner.

"Oh, pretty please, M. Evanson?" Marinette blinks at him with her big, baby blue eyes. She smiles even wider when the man scowls at her. "Just let me try it with her! It won't hurt to try, right?"

Evanson stares at her, eyes dark and flat, until finally, he relents, saying, "Run it through. I'll give you one chance."

With a grin, Marinette leaps to her feet and walking forward, offers a hand to Emma. The girl's wide, puffy eyes widen, and hesitantly accepts it with her own hand.

"You don't need to do this, Marinette," Emma mumbles as they move to the center of the room. "It's really, it's really nice of you, but even with Alexandre… M. Evanson didn't really like how we did it."

Fixing a stare to the floor, she adds on quietly, "And maybe that's for the best."

"Nonsense!" Marinette interrupts cheerfully, nudging the girl to turn around to face her. "I'll have you know, Emma - I really love dancing! And, I think you do too."

She takes the girl's other hand and squeezes both gently.

"Even if I utterly fail and make a fool of myself," Marinette whispers to her. "I want to say I did my best, y'know? I want to have fun and I want to do my best for _you_."

"I - " Emma starts, eyes incredibly large and arms trembling. But, it's too late for any other words, because the music has already begun.

With a super lame wink, Marinette nearly takes a step forward before abruptly remembering that she needs to step _back _as lead. Emma, clearly talented with a good head on her shoulders, does not even stumble when Marinette suddenly shifts their weight to the side.

A laugh bursts from her lips as she makes another mistake, before she raises her arm to allow Emma to twirl underneath. They spin from one place to another, with Marinette barely avoiding stepping on Emma's left foot.

"_It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing_," Marinette whispers, guiding Emma from one arm to another. Mischievously, she leans to the side, slightly dipping the girl.

Sputtering but not stopping, Emma stares as Marinette fails to wiggle her eyebrows. A certain kind of light sparks in Emma's eyes, and a giggle escapes her lips as they twirl around each other.

Surprise flashes through Emma's features at the sound, and with an answering grin, Marinette leads them both to the next part of the routine.

It's admittingly difficult, being lead. She has to pace her steps appropriately, remembering her place on the floor, being a firm foundation for Emma when the girl does more flashy steps.

All too soon, the music comes to a close, and with a brilliant grin, Marinette raises her arm, bringing Emma's own arm with her when the studio gives an applause.

"Oh," Emma says breathlessly, while Marinette pants from exertion. "That was different. Really different."

"Probably cause I made a lot of mistakes," Marinette admits sheepishly as she wipes an arm across her forehead. "I don't know if that helped with anything, but I hope you had fun! I did!"

Before Emma can respond, the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts.

"The both of you come with me," Evanson says severely, his voice, as always, bringing the chatter in the room to a dead silence.

Sharing a look, both Marinette and Emma follow the instructor out the door and into the lobby. Evanson remains silent for a moment before bringing a hand to his face and sighing.

"This is what's going to happen," he tells them, appearing as if he has aged another decade. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I'll let you perform."

"_Yes! _Did you hear that, Emma?" Marinette cries out, shaking the girl's shoulders. Emma, in turn, looks on with an open mouth and stunned eyes.

"But!" Evanson goes on to say, a stern frown on his face. "Marinette will have to work twice as hard to get those steps right. Don't pretend as if I didn't see those terrible mistakes."

"Yes, of course, not a problem!" Marinette eagerly shakes the other girl again. "Did you hear that? Isn't that exciting?"

Much to the her (and Evanson's) alarm, Emma, after a moment of continued silence, suddenly bursts into tears.

"Um," Marinette says, turning helpless eyes to Evanson.

"Oh dear," Sofia's voice floats into the lobby, an amused smile playing on her lips at their frozen bodies. The woman takes Emma into her arms and lets out a laugh.

"I think she's just overwhelmed," Sofia tells them, guiding Emma to another part of the hall. "I'll take her to calm down somewhere else."

"Yes, thank you, Sofia," Evanson finally says, carefully following the two until they stop at an appropriate distance. Turning to Marinette, he releases a deep sigh.

Marinette, somewhat sensing the shift in mood, smiles silently.

"Sometimes, I don't know what to do with you," the instructor sourly admits, the stubble on his chin all to noticeable from Marientte's point of view. "You had your own routine to learn but _somehow_ you learned another pair's too? Let alone a position you've never done before?"

Evanson looks at her with unveiled suspicion. "If you were any older, I would suspect foul play."

To that, Marinette shrugs helplessly.

"It's hard to apply it," she tells the instructor thoughtfully. "But I like to pick apart the steps - it's super interesting! It makes it easier to visualize and understand, especially when I have no idea what I'm doing. Besides, that's what I did when I first came - "

At the realization that she's running her mouth a bit too much, Marinette closes her mouth with an audible _click_.

Evanson, who is far too clever for his own good, catches on quickly.

"You," he growls, his already dark features turning thunderous. "Are you telling me that you walked into this studio a complete beginner?"

"Well, _I_ didn't say that?" Marinette offers weakly, her eyes shifting to the side. "Is that… is that a problem?"

She stares, bemusedly, when her instructor simply responds by resting his face in his hands in defeat.

_People have been doing that a lot lately, _she sends Evanson a bright smile in reassurance. _It must be an epidemic. _

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

She's practicing the trumpet in her room, slowly working through her long tones (ugh, she hates these but they're so necessary) when a knock is heard on the trap door.

Eager to stop, she puts the trumpet down, emptying the spit valve carefully over a trash can as she yells, "Come in!"

Her mother enters the room, cautiously stepping through the door (ah, she must have heard Marinette falling down the stairs last night) and giving a warm smile.

"You've been working hard, I see," her mother chuckles at Marinette's suspicious look. "I'm amazed you have so much focus."

Marinette protests, "I always have a lot of focus!"

"Yes, that is true," her mother agrees too easily. Sitting down on the bed as Marinette puts the trumpet away, she adds, "You know, your father and I have been thinking…"

Marinette hums in the back of her throat, slowly cleaning the trumpet before placing it in its case.

"For _collège_, what do you think about Françoise Dupont?" her mother rushes to continue. "We've always thought about sending you there since before… well. Since you were very young."

"Françoise Dupont?" Marinette parrots back. "You mean, that super fancy school? For super fancy people?"

"Your father attended when he was your age," her mother says fondly as Marinette joins her on the bed. "Because of that, you're more than welcome to go as well. Consider it a fresh start from your current school."

Marinette laughs at that, because she's well aware of her parents and their worries. Strangely enough, she hasn't been able to make any close friends at her public school, her reasons ranging from _struggling to learn French properly and by then, it is too late _to _oh no, I fell asleep again. _

But she's not particularly worried. Friends are great but she's not completely alone, and Marinette, like always, wants to take her time.

"Sure, that sounds great!" she tells her mother, and melts when her mother pats her head. "I'm sure it'll be fun!"

"That's good to hear," her mother's eyes crinkle in relief as she wraps Marinette in her arms. "I'll tell your father right away - we'll sign up next spring."

"Okay!" Marinette says easily enough.

(Of course, the joke's on her, because come next spring, _after _she is signed up to attend the prestigious Collège Françoise Dupont, she will shriek to the heavens above:

"_What do you mean they don't have a music program?"_).

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Okay, we got this, we got this," Marinette mutters under her breath, legs bouncing up and down. "We got this, right? What are we? What are we, Dominique?"

"We're killers," her partner answers blandly, tugging at his tie with a scowl. "Because we will kill our performance _and _our enemies."

Marinette stops her near breakdown for a moment to beam at the boy.

"Memorized it word for word," she says proudly. Perhaps, in another time, she would have been embarrassed that an actual eleven-year-old is comforting her. Today is not that day. "Wow, what did I do to deserve you?"

"Not enough, that's what," Dominique rolls his eyes. He stands when their names are called and offers his hand. "We'll be fine, silly."

"Yeah, you're totally right," Marinette blabbers on, pulling down her flowing, black skirt. A plain, white dress shirt rests comfortably on her shoulders. "We got this, we're killers!"

They walk out onto the stage and immediately, Marinette shuts up. The sound of her flats on the polished floor click unnaturally, and when she turns to face the audience, all she sees is utter black, the stage lights near blinding above.

As practiced, she and Dominique bow together, the polite applause nearly distracting her.

They face each other, hands together, another on his shoulder and his on her waist.

Marinette closes her eyes, inhaling deeply, imprinting the memory of heat on her face, Dominique's quiet breaths, the eerie silence before the music begins.

And when she opens them, staring straight into Dominique's clear hazel eyes, her excitement is overwhelming, buzzing from her lungs to the very tip of her toes.

With a grin, she moves ahead at the same time Dominique steps back, matching the start of the music. They share a brief moment of childish joy before he pulls her forward and before she can help it, a cry of delight escapes her lips.

Then, it is a haze of unbridled elation and movement.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

When they move off stage to a rather enthusiastic audience, Marinette suffocates her partner with a tight hug.

"Good luck," Dominique barely manages to gasp out, motioning to the dressing room. "You don't even have five minutes to change."

Marinette shrugs but the boy is right. Dashing to the room, she swiftly changes to a well-fitted pair of dress pants. Her hands quickly add a tie to her shirt and, rolling her sleeves up, she then lowers her high ponytail so that it rests more so to the back of her neck.

She makes it in the nick of time, joining Emma at the edge of the stage right as Evanson gives her a few words of encouragement.

"Are you ready, my fair lady?" Marinette asks teasingly, bowing low and offering a hand to the girl.

With a giggle, Emma graciously accepts with her own and, hand in hand, they walk out to the stage.

There are brief murmurs when they appear, perhaps because Marinette has already performed once before, or perhaps because Marinette is clearly the lead and a _girl_.

Her nerves already gone from her dance with Dominique, Marinette sends a dazzling smile as she bows and Emma curtseys.

When she turns to face her partner, Marinette catches Evanson watching on with folded arms, the faintest glimmer in his eyes.

Then, focusing her attention on Emma, grin widening when the girl answers with a pretty smile of her own, Marinette feels her heart swell to immeasurable heights.

_Yes, this is it, _she thinks as the sound of low brass enters the stage. _This must be where I belong._

(Ironically, that may be the case. It is just terribly unfortunate that this isn't the _only _place where she belongs).

**.**

**.**

**.**

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

**notes!**

**\- swing dance is indeed a form of dance, with swing music, and it is so fun to watch (and dance to!). Dance studios are usually 10 - 12 kids per class, from my understanding.**

**\- Francois Dupont has yet to show any sign of having a music class, so I'm just going to assume that it has never existed in the first place. Which doesn't really make sense, but I'm just working with what I have. **

**\- In case you haven't noticed already, this Marinette is an absolute disaster and not as clever as the original Marinette, but she makes up for it with sheer persistence and enthusiasm. **

**\- there are many OCs here and, well, that's to be expected. they're important because surely you can't expect a person's life to only encompass what you see, right?**

**\- We're now starting to see even more glaring differences between this Marinette and the original - starting with an interest in music and dance! considering we don't have a budding fashion designer anymore, I'm already getting a headache over how certain events will occur in the future.**

**\- lastly, I hope you're all enjoying this as much as I am! Even if there's only ten of you out there (OC!Marinette can make people very wary!), I hope you'll enjoy our journey with disaster Marinette along with me, one step at a time.**

**Look forward to more!**

\- **SE**


	3. Chapter 3: Transitioning

**Chapter 3: Transitioning**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Her last year in elementary school runs on like swift feet fleeing the sun's rays.

Band rehearsals, jazz band rehearsals, dance practice, baking with her parents, sludging through school - it all becomes a blur.

Marinette, through sheer force of _wanting _to live, finds herself diving deep into this not-so-new life with relentless vigor.

The pace of each day picks up dangerously, whirling into little moments of happiness and normalcy, to the point where she nearly forgets what makes her lie awake at night.

Every morning she wakes with the sun, helps her parents start up the bakery, rushes to school and falls asleep in class. Then it's off to band rehearsal, followed by dance practice (and maybe she'll squeeze in a little _busking _in between), and then it's back to the bakery, helping at the register before closing shop.

Maybe, if she feels like it, she'll work on homework, but the work is ridiculously easy (barring French itself) and the time it takes is near negligible.

Before she realizes it, it's summer once again and she finds herself smiling brilliantly at a stern-faced man.

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard," Marinette says as Dominique wrings his hands next to her, as if imagining it's her throat he is strangling. "Did you just say - "

"A competition," Evanson answers shortly, appearing like _he _isn't too sure about what he just said. "A regional one, hosted right here in Paris."

"You're crazy," Marinette blurts out and then chokes because - yup, Dominique has finally snapped, and she is now dying due to strangulation.

"I mean," she gasps out, slapping the boy's wrists in mercy, "Of course, monsieur, we would love to!"

"That's what I thought you said," Evanson folds his arms (his favorite power move, Marinette has noticed), the tan skin dark against his blue athletic jacket. He sighs heavily - an action he often favors when Marinette is in the vicinity. "With Emma graduating to the next level, you two are probably the best we have for the children's tier."

"That's us!" Marinette beams as Dominique slowly removes his hands in warning. "The best! Absolute best!"

With another deep sigh, Evanson rubs his forehead in anticipation of an oncoming migraine. "Let's just - let's just try to make a routine."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Could you pass me the whisk over there, Marinette?"

"Yes, indeed I can!" Marinette calls in response, handing over the tool and swooning over the fresh strawberries. "Ooh…"

"Not for you," her father chuckles, playfully slapping her hand away before she can take a bite. "This is a special commission, so I can't give you any just yet."

"You've been getting a lot of those lately," Marinette says with a pout, dropping her hand for now. "Have you forgotten your poor, poor family?"

Her father gasps, a hand to his heart. "Me? _Never!_"

At this, Marinette lets a burst of laughter.

"Tell you what," her father then says, whipping up a huge bowl of icing. "After I finish this tonight, we'll fight it out, one on one, in the living room."

"You mean, Ultimate Mecha Strike II?" she asks, crinkling her nose and turning away with a sniff. It's not a game she's particularly fond of, but her parents seem to love it, so she's always happy to play. "I'll have you know, I've outgrown that old thing. You're just asking for the inevitable, papa."

With a bark of laughter, her father suddenly turns around and wipes a chunk of icing on her nose.

"You're twenty years too young to think you can beat me that easily," he wags his finger at her before shaking his head when she licks the icing clean. "But wash your face before we do that."

Letting out a cackle, Marinette swipes a strawberry, fleeing before her father can catch on.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

They're sitting in the living room, cuddling up on the couch and whipping out controllers for the two of them.

Her mother, peeling pears in the kitchen, shakes her head in amusement.

Fifteen minutes later, her father falls to the ground in utter despair.

"How can this be?" he says despondently, staring at his hands. "These tools of war - how could they have failed me?"

Marinette wheezes from laughing too hard, clapping her hands like a particularly hapless seal.

"Oh my god," she says, then coughs, choking on air as she falls off the couch. "Your face! Your face, _ha_!"

"You're unnaturally good at this!" her father protests while her mother brings a tray of fruit to them. "Have you been practicing without me?"

"Not really," Marinette answers, and it isn't a lie. She lets her grin widen with glee. "I think you're just getting old!"

At those words, her parents laugh a little more. Taking advantage of the distraction, she grabs an apple slice and shoves it into her mouth, unwilling to say anymore.

That night, as she sits out in her balcony, on the new blue chair her parents had bought her, tracing the faint stars in the sky, she murmurs, "Unnatural, huh?"

Perhaps it is unnatural, the way she talks, the way she moves - being stuffed into a preteen's body can do that, she supposes.

It _is _strange how her body works here. It's stronger, faster, her reflexes reaching the point where athletes would stand.

"Death _does _do strange things to you," she reaches out a hand, covering the full moon with her palm. Humming, she allows the hand to fall back onto her eyes, enveloping her world into darkness. "Or maybe it's the water here."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

She puts her hands on her knees and leans forward, panting slightly, sweat trailing down her back.

"Again," Evanson's voice echoes through the near empty room. "And, Marinette, tuck your elbows in more at that last part."

"Yes, monsieur!" she answers back before tightening her high ponytail. Raising her aching arms, she returns to the starting position with her partner.

"Are you okay?" Dominique whispers as the music begins.

"Yeah, it's all good," Marinette shrugs, because constructive criticism is never a bad thing. With a terrible wink, she adds, "But sorry about my sweaty hands."

Unable to respond, Dominique wrinkles his nose in disgust before guiding her through a complex four step pattern.

_Dominique, _she notices with acute awareness, _is very, very good at dancing. _

No twelve-year-old should be that good, right? But then again, Emma and even Alexandre had held a near equal amount of talent.

_One day, _she thinks wistfully, jumping over Dominique's bent form. _One day, I'll be like that. _

And then, suddenly, she loses her footing when she lands on her feet and quickly trips, face first into the floor.

An awkward silence covers the room, accentuated by the snare drum playing the background.

"Again," Evanson calls out wearily, and Marinette giggles hysterically, despite the pain.

Again, the cycle repeats, leaving Marinette dancing well into the night.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

The door opens, bringing the short tinkle of chimes throughout the store.

"Welcome!" Marinette cheerfully says before she catches sight of the bakery's newest visitor. "Oh! My oh my, is that you, Emma?"

"Hello, Marinette," the now thirteen-year-old greets with a small smile. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time - oof!"

Marinette squeezes her arms even tighter. "I haven't seen you in months!"

"I've been busy," Emma says apologetically as Marinette quickly releases her grip and ushers them to a table. "And I wanted to let you know in person. I'm actually, um, moving next month."

"_What?_" Marinette squawks, her grip on a tray of pastries almost slipping. "Say it isn't so!"

"It is so," Emma says slowly, strangely, before letting out a tiny giggle. Her eyes seem to brighten just a little more. "I just wanted to ask, you know, if you wanted to, well - "

"Of course I do," Marinette says hurriedly, clasping Emma's hands in her own, completely and utterly unaware of what exactly she's just agreed to.

The other girl lets out another laugh before handing Marinette a small card.

"A letter, for you," she explains as Marinette takes it reverently. "It has my number! You can call me once you get a phone. Oh, and my email too!"

Marinette swoons.

"I'd love to do that," she tells Emma, tucking the envelope into the pockets of her apron. "Where will you be going?"

"Back to Italy," Emma says ruefully, her eyes nearly downcast before they suddenly brighten again. "But that's still enough time to come see your performance at the end of the month!"

Marinette's eyes widen. Whipping her head side to side around the rather empty bakery, she leans forward and hisses, "Wait a second, you heard about that?"

"Of course I did," Emma answers, giving a rather strange look. "Everyone in the studio's heard about. You and your partner are all M. Evanson talks about."

"Oh no," Marinette mumbles, dragging her hands down both sides of her cheeks. "I'm doomed."

"Says the monsieur's favorite student," Emma shoots back and wow, where did that crying girl from last year go? "You'll be great!"

Before Marinette can respond, a voice interrupts their conversation.

"Marinette?" her father calls out as he walks to the bakery's front. "Marinette, are you - oh, hello there!"

"Hello," Emma dips her head in greeting, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, shyly, that deceitful child. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Yes, indeed! You must be Emma, Marinette's former partner!" her father shakes Emma's hand enthusiastically, his enormous hand dwarfing hers completely.

"And friend," Marinette pipes in, and is rewarded with Emma's blinding smile.

"Hmm, yes, you _do _seem quite sweet," her father strokes his beard in consideration. He appears entirely stricken. "But I also like Dominique too. Oh _no, _this is a problem. He's just so polite - and handsome too!"

It takes a second for Marinette to catch on.

"Papa, please," she says, a little desperately, over Emma's giggles. "I'm _eleven_."

Her father gives an alarmingly blank look, and pairs it with an equally as concerning, slow shrug.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

She's wearing her recital clothes, the skirt a bit shorter than before, the dress shirt loose and the added tie tight around her neck.

"No," Dominique immediately says when she turns to look at him. "We're fine. Don't look at me like that."

"I think I might throw up," Marinette tells him, because honesty is key, and tugs desperately at her navy blue tie

"You _can't_," Dominique commands her, with all the authority of a young teen. "If you throw up, I'll dump your vomit all over you."

"Oh my god, _ew_," Marinette scrunches her nose. In one smooth motion, she reaches out and wraps an arm around his shoulders. "You know what? We're gonna be fine. We're okay! You're okay, I'm okay, we're both waywayway okay!"

"That's what I've been saying," Dominique says and rolls his eyes, exasperated, though Marinette can feel his shoulders loosen.

She smiles at that, aware that Dominique, in his own professional, little genius boy way, is probably nervous in his own right.

"And our next contestants for the Children's Section - Dominique Masih and Marinette Dupain-Cheng!" the announcer's voice blares through the speakers, catching their attention.

"Okay," Marinette inhales deeply, and takes Dominique's offered hand. His matching navy blue tie brings a smile to her face and steadily, they make their way onto the stage.

They both bow to the audience and to their left, a panel of judges sitting at a white table appears.

Swallowing down any nerves, Marinette focuses in on her little black heels and tries not to think about how much larger this stage is, how many more people there are in the audience.

Her hands meet with Dominique's and, when the music begins to play, Marinette exhales once more.

Meeting her partner's eyes (they're her favorite, she decides), Marinette leaps into the fray, her attention narrowing in on the turn of her heels, the trombones vibrating in her bones.

And then, with an eager grin, she begins to dance.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

They place third, much to Marinette's amazement.

"Not bad for rookies," Evanson comments, before Dominique excuses himself quietly into the dressing room.

Staring after his hunched back, Marinette feels her own swelling heart falter.

"Don't put too much thought into that," Evanson then tells her as her parents fight through the crowd to reach her. Next to them, a young Emma slips in and rushes to greet them. "He'll get over it eventually."

And despite her age of over three decades, as Emma reaches out to her and pulls her into a tight hug, Marinette pauses to wonder if she really is fit for this world after all.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Alright, new school, new me!" Marinette announces to the dining table, plopping her new backpack onto the stool next to her.

Her mother raises a single eyebrow and immediately, Marinette deflates.

"Okay, not new me," she admits defeatedly, pouring a generous amount of milk into a bowl. As she adds in the cereal she mutters, "I'll just be like this forever. Young and fresh and _adorable_."

"You sure will be," her father happily pipes in, grabbing another bowl from the pantry. He gives her a questioning look. "You sure you don't want these macarons for your new classmates? They're very good."

Downing the last of her cereal, Marinette laughs as she wipes the residual milk from her face.

"I'm sure they're delicious!" she says brightly. "Maybe next time? I just want to make an impression by myself, y'know?"

"Oh, my baby girl is so mature!" her father sobs, wiping away his tears of joy. "Papa is so proud! What have I done to deserve this?"

"Annnnd that's my cue to go," Marinette says, standing up and sharing a look with her mother. She beams. "I'll see you later!"

"Have fun!" her mother calls after her, and Marinette waves both her arms in response.

_New school, same me, _Marinette chants eagerly in her head, jogging lightly in the direction of the school. _New school, same me. _

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

The school, for some strange reason, feels awfully familiar.

_Have I been here before? _She asks herself as she stares dumbly at the long stairway ahead of her.

But no, that would be impossible. Unless, of course, she had visited here during her previous memories as Marinette _before _the accident.

Unperturbed, she hikes up the stairs, taking two at a time, and gives her most winning smile to the older, middle-aged man waiting for her at the entrance.

"And you must be Marinette," he says, stroking his well-trimmed beard before offering his hand. She takes it eagerly and shakes it with vigor. "Enthusiastic, I see! Well, that's always good to have! Your homeroom class is this way - follow me."

"I am the principal of this school, and you may call me M. Damacoles," the man introduces, hands behind his broad back. "I understand from your parents that you require a few learning accommodations?"

Marinette nods at his words. "You're correct! I may just need a little extra time when it comes to heavier, longer assignments."

"That shouldn't be a problem, as I've already assured your parents," the principal tells her as they walk through a massive courtyard. At the sight, Marinette nearly whistles. "Your homeroom teacher will be Mlle. Bustier - she's quite popular among the students, so I'm sure you'll take a liking to her."

"That sounds nice," Marinette says agreeably, following the man as they walk up the metal stairs to the right.

"Ah yes, here we are," Damacoles stops at a door further down the hallway and hands her several documents. "Here is your class list, important contact information, as well as documents the school nurse may need. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks so much, M. Damacoles!" Marinette sends him another award winning smile. "I'll be sure to do that."

With a grave nod, the principal departs, heading off to the floor above.

"Alright, same school, new me," Marinette mutters, adjusting the straps to her backpack. Then with a start, she slaps her forehead, saying, "Wait, _no_, it's new school, same me, _oh my god, I'm doomed._"

Nevertheless, she bites the bullet, knocking on the door twice before entering.

The first thought that comes to her mind, is that the classroom is quite nice. Spacious and full of books, there are giant windows to both sides of the room that allow a ton of sunlight to come through.

"Welcome!" the woman at the front, with dark red hair and bright teal eyes, greets warmly. Feeling at least a dozen pair of eyes on her, Marinette sends a megawatt smile and waves slightly.

"Hi! It's nice to meet you!" she hears a few gasps in the classroom and, when she turns to face the students, she is hit by a sudden train of nostalgia.

"Class, this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng," the teacher, probably Bustier, guides Marinette a few more steps forward. "Some of you may recognize her, as she used to attend this district years ago. She's returned now, as you can see, so please be sure to reintroduce yourselves!"

"Yes, hello!" Marinette tags on to the introduction. Finding that there's no time like the present, she says brightly, "I lost all of my memories before turning eight so please don't be too surprised if I don't remember you. But I'd still like to get to know all of you anyway!"

Near the back, a tiny, blonde girl brings a hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

_Wow, that's one heck of a response, _Marinette thinks, blinking rapidly. It's a disconcerting feeling, she'll, admit - the idea of something once known being just out of reach.

Under Bustier's suggestion, she hops on over to the second row on the right and plops on the bench.

"Marinette," she says, introducing herself as if she hadn't just declared her name and dirty secrets five minutes prior. She brings her right hand up in offering. "It's nice to meet you!"

"Nino," the boy mumbles, taking the hand and shaking it loosely. His hand is cold in hers. "Nice to meet you."

Absorbing Nino's baggy clothes, his slouched posture, and the set of old headphones hanging around his neck, Marinette beams at him. In response, the boy shuffles to the side, trying to put some distance between them.

_We're gonna be great friends, _she thinks, relishing his wary eyes. _Oh yes, just you wait. _

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

During recess, as soon as Bustier places down her piece of chalk, Marinette finds herself surrounded on all sides.

"Wait, what?" she asks groggily, rubbing her eyes in an effort to wake up faster. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Did you actually fall asleep?" a pink-haired girl guffaws in the background, leaning casually next to one of the desks.

"I have done no such thing," Marinette denies at a higher pitched voice, casting a panicked glance at their humming teacher.

"Oh, you don't need to worry," the same blonde-haired girl from before says assuringly. Her voice is awfully high-pitched, and easily excitable. "Mlle. Bustier is very kind!"

"Maybe too kind," another girl adds, dark hair covering parts of her face.

(In the background, another blonde girl scoffs, accompanied by a red-haired girl. She opens her mouth to bite out a few words, but is woefully interrupted by the enthusiasm of the entire class).

"Alright, let's not overwhelm her, guys!" a much shorter classmate calls, pushing her way through the small crowd. Offering her hand, the girl smiles under a wave of blonde dreadlocks. "We've never met before, but I'm Mylène! It's nice to meet you!"

"That's a pretty name," Marinette says without thinking and takes the hand with a brilliant grin. "I'm Marinette, great to meet you!"

With a coo, the previous tiny, blonde girl comes up and grabs Marinette's other hand.

"Rose! That's my name," the girl wriggles excitedly. "Oh, it's so good to see you again, Marinette! We went to primary school together!"

"That's cool - " Marinette begins before more classmates interrupt, eager to introduce themselves.

_Cute, _she then thinks, smiling till her cheeks hurt. She shakes each and every one of their hands before coming back to a bewildered Nino.

"Marinette!" she announces to him, one hand splayed on her chest as she gives him a handshake with the other.

"I know," Nino says slowly, giving her a strange look. "We just did this - "

"Oh, what did you say?" Marinette cups a hand over her ear. "Your name is Nino? What a nice name!"

In a lower voice, she leans in and whispers, "I didn't want you to feel left out, y'know?"

"Okay, thank you," Nino whispers back before stopping and realizing what he had just said. "Did I just - "

Sympathetically, Marinette pats his hand and says, "Nino, Nino, Nino. You have much to learn, young grasshopper."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

The end of the day comes all too quickly (though, perhaps it's because Marinette has slept through the entire day), and she leaves the classroom in high hopes.

Marinette is well aware of her likes and dislikes, and she is hopelessly fond of all things cute.

Wrestling a flower crown on her head (made by Rose, although _where _exactly these flowers had come from was a complete mystery), Marinette babbles about her favorite dessert to her new, good friend, Nino.

"It's just a shame my family doesn't make ice cream, y'know?" she tells him as they walk down the stairs. "If I could I would eat it every day after each meal."

"That's not good for your health," Nino points out to her dazedly, his eyes slightly glazed over by the sheer amount of words being thrown at him. He coughs. "But I get it. My mom doesn't let me eat more than one macaron a day."

"No way!" Marinette gasps as Nino nods solemnly. "That's not okay! And people wonder why kids are upset all the time."

"I - " Nino continues, but is abruptly cut off by a loud, piercing voice.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Marinette _Dupain-Cheng._"

Nino's skin pales at the voice and, blinking, Marinette turns to face a pair of young girls walking her way.

Not bothering to say anything, she simply waits, head tilted slightly at the approaching girls.

The blonde girl, somehow remarkably familiar to Marinette, sneers while her friend crosses her arms. "I see you've finally crawled back from whatever hole you went off to. You might have other people wrapped around your fingers but _I _know who you really are, _Dupain-Cheng. _Just another attention grabbing _liar_."

There is an awkward silence after the sudden tirade of words and to the side, Nino tightly clenches his fists.

"Oh," Marinette says, just as awkwardly, after a long pause reveals that no one else has any intentions of saying anything. She gives it another moment before saying, "Okay. Cool. Is that it?"

"What?" the girl startles, her smile faltering. "What do you mean _is that it?_"

She stomps her foot. "You're just the poor daughter of some no-name bakery!"

Suddenly, Marinette laughs.

"I get it now," she says, before letting out another choked laugh. Fanning her face, she wpies an imaginary tear from her face. "Whoo! Sorry, I just, _ha_, I just thought you had something important to say."

The girl rears back as her friend gasps in the back. Next to Marinette, Nino lets out a similar, high-pitched gasp, his hand half-way raised to his open mouth.

"_Excuse me?! _I _always _have something important to say!" the blonde girl screeches, appearing as if she is seconds away from tearing Mariente's head off. "This is ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous! Do you know who I am?"

"Obviously I don't," Marinette says, recovering well enough. She checks the time on her watch and oh man, is she gonna be _late._ "You didn't even introduce yourself, That's poor manners, y'know."

"I don't need to! _I_ am Chloe Bourgeois, daughter of the mayor," the girl seethes, jabbing a finger at herself. "Otherwise known as the most important person in the city!"

"The mayor?" Marinette widens her eyes as the girl preens. Then, dumbly, she turns to Nino with furrowed eyebrows. "Mayor of what?"

"_Oh my god!_" the newly dubbed Chloe shrieks. "How dumb can you be? The mayor of _Paris, _obviously!"

"You didn't clarify," Marinette answers frankly, then takes Chloe's hand with a charming grin. "But cool! Wow, you're kinda slow, aren't you? It's great to meet you!"

"_Slow? You're crazy, oh my god, let go of me!_"

"Sorry we can't talk anymore, I've got practice, you know how it is," Marinette continues with a wink, even as Chloe struggles to escape her grip to no avail. The girl helplessly moves up and down until Marinette finishes the handshake with enthusiasm.

"I'm going to have you expelled, or, or sent to jail!" Chloe hisses, nursing her perfectly fine hand after Marinette finally lets go. "Wait till I tell my daddy - "

"I didn't catch your name!" Marinette exclaims, bulldozing over whatever Chloe had been about to say. She grabs the red-haired girl's hand and shakes that too with relentless vigor. "I'm Marinette!"

"Sabrina?" the girl asks dizzily, nearly passing out from whiplash.

Marinette looks at her strangely, "Are you not sure?"

Letting go at the girl's sudden flush, Marinette skips over to the slack-jawed Nino and waves goodbye.

"Well, still good to meet you both!" she hollers over to the pair, Chloe fuming red as Sabrina waves hesitantly back. "See you tomorrow!"

And then she exits quickly, dragging Nino with her because holy crud is she _late_.

"How did you do that?" he finally asks, as they walk down the long stairway. "No one's talked to Chloe like that before."

"Uh," Marinette eloquently says, and scratches the side of her cheek. "I'm not sure what you mean. I mean, yeah she's rude, but she hasn't killed anyone, has she?"

At Nino's bewildered face, Marinette lets out a sudden laugh and shakes her head.

"There are worse things in Paris than a spoiled girl with a mean streak," she tells the boy, thoughts flashing to that one night years ago.

After all, Chloe Bourgeois is nothing compared to being stabbed in a dark alleyway at night.

**.**

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**.**

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

**notes!**

**\- i actually have no idea how dance competitions work, so please bear with me as I write this with very limited research**

**\- several people have commented on how things work within real-life Paris, and I appreciate the information! I'm not too sure if/how I can insert them in, but I really love hearing about how life is in another country!**

**\- as everyone is gradually noticing, this Marinette is so different and I am so glad to hear that many of you seem to like her! it can be difficult balancing her personality and her experiences from present and before, so I hope everything feel seamless enough**

**\- and a fresh start at a very familiar place! the nostalgia/familiarity Marinette feels comes from two places that I'm sure are obvious enough. i hope you've noticed some different changes in her interactions with her classmates!**

**\- lastly: i spent a whole month trying to write a chapter for "if the shoes fits" and i felt incredibly defeated after being dissatisfied with everything i wrote. this fic helps me to take a break from it, which is a relief, and i hope everyone reading this knows that there is nothing wrong with stepping away from things and taking a much needed break! take care of yourselves please!**

**thank you to everyone who's enjoyed "paint the sky black" so far - i appreciate the enthusiasm and love so much! **

**\- SE**


	4. Chapter 4: Expanding

**Chapter 4: Expanding**

**.**

**.**

**.**

She returns to the dance school after a month of rest; Collège Françoise Dupont, unsurprisingly for a fancy school with _no music program, _demands a certain level of academic achievement.

To make sure she's not drowning during the school year, Marinette and her parents have decided that after the regional competition, she would take a break to iron out any difficulties she might have in the future.

Now, left here on her first week back, she slowly enters the studio, her insides twinging uncomfortably.

Immediately, pandemonium breaks out.

"Marinette!" a crowd of young children surround her. "Where'd you go? You're back!"

A smaller girl leaps into her arms and Marinette laughs, twirling her in circles.

"It's good to see you too, Anna," she squeezes Anna's button nose, causing the girl to erupt into giggles.

Several of Anna's friends rush to tug at her sleeves.

"Where'd you go, Marinette?"

"Marinette! We missed you! You've been gone _forever_!"

"Sofia said you were home this whole time! Isn't that boring?"

"Dominique was so lonely without you, Marinette!"

Registering the words, Marinette stops, the twinge in her stomach growing bigger.

Her eyes trail over the room, pinpointing Dominique with unnerving accuracy. Patting the other children's heads, she walks slowly over to the corner.

"Hi," she says quietly to the boy stretching silently on the floor.

There is an awkward pause and Marinette rubs her forearms, her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach -

Dominique exhales loudly, the sound near inaudible compared to the growing chatter around them. He stands up and Marinette starts, staring at their sudden height difference. Where they had once stood nearly at equal height, Dominique now is almost half a head taller than her.

"I can't believe you," he begins, just as Marinette blurts out, "Sorry!"

"What," Dominique stares with sharp hazel eyes. "Wait what? Why are _you_ sorry?"

"I mean, isn't that what I should be doing?" Marinette questions, bemused for once. "I messed up and that's why you're mad, right? I wasn't focused enough and that's why I'm sorry."

(And that is the truth. During the competition, Marinette, overwhelmed by the sudden change in scenery, had slipped up more than once that day.

She's not quite used to competitions with _partners_, but she knows better than to not own up to her mistakes).

With shadows across his face, Dominique runs a hand through his dark hair, messing up the already fluffed up curls.

"... I thought you weren't coming back," he admits, looking anywhere except at her. "And I thought - I thought it was _my _fault."

_Oh, _Marinette thinks, because that makes perfect sense - Dominique, for all his presented maturity, is still a twelve-year-old boy.

_I can't believe you, _she scolds herself, _h ow could you forget? _

"I _am _sorry, Dom," she tells him, grasping his clenched hands and prying them free. "I don't know why I didn't find you after - that's my fault. I was too scared that I might've upset you."

At her blatant honesty, Dominique turns away, the shadows of his hair covering his face.

"Stupid," he mumbles. "Aren't we friends?"

Like floodgates opening for the first time in a century, Marinette's eyes well up and with a hiccup, she wails, "_Of course we are!_"

And suddenly, just like that, the world is balanced once more.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Despite the harsher academic expectations her new school demands from her, Marinette finds Françoise Dupont a charming, if not slightly posh environment.

"And then," she continues enthusiastically at the lunch table, arms flailing next to her, "You spread the frosting with a knife and go _whoosh, whoosh! _You need to make those noises too, otherwise it won't be as tasty."

To her left, Nino scrunches his face, clearly lacking faith in her instructions but not confident enough in his own baking skills to say otherwise.

"Aren't you scared, handling all those knives?" Rose pipes in with wide eyes. Next to her, Juleka eats her sandwich in intense silence.

Marinette beams. "Scared? With knives? I'm a knife _master_. There's no way!"

Nino's face twists even further, his eyes narrowing to a dangerous point.

(the next time they have Home Economics, Marinette pairs up with Nino - as they always do! - and finds herself at the mercy of his sudden, very intimidating commands.

"I'm cutting these," Nino declares stoutly, taking the bowl of strawberries from her hands.

Marinette blinks rapidly. "What?"

"And these," he adds, grabbing the stick of butter from her side of the table.

Marinette stares down at her suddenly empty counter. "Wait, what?"

"In fact," Nino then says, with all the authority of a preteen, and points to a corner. "Just go over there."

"..._what?_")

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

She arrives back home late in the afternoon, lips sore from her trumpet lesson, her instrument's case strapped along her back.

"I'm home!" she calls out, slipping through the front door and ducking past several customers, making sure to greet them along the way.

Her mother gives an indulgent smile, accepting Marinette's kiss on the cheek as she rings up one customer's purchases, and says, "Go check up on your father, please. He's in the back."

Dumping her trumpet under the register, Marinette gives a happy agreement, one hand moving slyly towards the display of macarons upfront.

Her mother, far too observant for her own good, smacks her hand away in warning.

"I'll get you next time," Marinette swears, nursing her hand and fleeing from the laughing customers.

Marching to the back and slipping past several metal crates, Marinette swivels up to her father, his face completely scrunched in concentration as he frosts another cupcake.

"Hi, Dad!" Marinette chirps, smile widening when he jumps up in surprise. "Need any help?"

"By the Great Pastry Chef above!" her father exclaims, placing a giant hand to his chest. "You nearly scared me out of my apron, little dove."

Letting out a peal of laughter, Marinette snags another piping bag and fills it with frosting.

"I'll do the other half," she declares, waving the tool dangerously in the air.

Her father laughs heartily, one hand to his stomach as if he is attempting to keep it all in.

"Where would I be without you, my greatest helper?"

"Without a business, that's for sure," Marinette answers, laughing again with her father before crossing her eyes in concentration.

The silence that follows is only broken by the murmurs of customers out in the front, the soft whirring of the oven across the room.

In that peace, in that quiet, Marinette blinks at the tray of cupcakes in front of her, and lets out a soft, silent smile.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

She squints her eyes at the paper lying innocently on the wooden table, the long list of instructions sending her head spinning round and round.

"This is such a bummer," Nino says, frowning at his own project assignment. "I've got some stuff I need to do back home too."

Marinette mumbles words that she hopes will form together to sound like an agreement.

"Yeah, I know," Nino says, rolling his eyes, as if Marinette is a coherent, present participant in the conversation. "Man, this is so harsh."

Not too long after, the final bell rings resoundly throughout the school halls.

"And don't forget to read Chapter Five for homework!" Bustier's voice calls out after the students rushing through the door.

Brushing the sleep from her eyes, Marinette shuffles down the metal stairs of the second floor, occasionally bumping into Nino in her sloppy descent.

"Dude, you seriously need to sleep more at home," Nino tells her as they walk through the main courtyard. "Like, I get that we're rebellious teenagers and all, but I don't think I've seen you alive for more than five minutes at a time today."

"Hey, I sleep!" Marinette protests, her voice cracking slightly from not being used properly in several hours. She shoves her shoulders into Nino's skinny limbs, forcing him to stumble. "I sleep at least eight hours every day!"

"Well, it doesn't look like it," Nino says, rolling his eyes and rubbing his arm. They exit the school, walking past the rush of students and down the huge, marble staircase. "You're like a total zombie."

Marinette raises a finger in protest - only to lower it in defeat.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Nino says smugly.

Muttering under breath, Marinette finally cracks a small smile once they reach the bottom of the stairs.

"You wanna come over tomorrow to work on the project?" Nino asks, tugging on his old headphones and plugging it into his phone.

Marinette beams, sleep already fading from her mind at the idea of spending time with Best Boy Nino.

"You bet I do," she tells him. Turning right, she waves Nino off, tightening her ponytail and already running through the new routine Evanson introduced last week.

Her fingers twitch to the beat of a melody in her head, a bounce in her heels as she considers ducking under instead of side stepping for that one part in the chorus -

"Happy you still have your one and only friend, _Dupain-Cheng?_"

Marinette blinks, the routine disappearing from her eyes when someone else enters her line of sight. Donning a bright yellow jacket and pristine white pants, Chloe folds her arms together triumphantly, Sabrina confidently mimicking the same look at her side.

There is a very long pause as Marinette stares dumbly at the pair. Finally, unable to take it any longer, Chloe breaks the silence with a stomp of her foot.

"Ugh, are you brain dead?" Chloe demands, a scowl on her face. "Or deaf? Did you not hear what I just said?"

Marinette blinks.

"I did," she then says, rather slowly.

There is another very long pause.

"Are you _serious?_" Chloe shrieks, waving her arms up and down. "Aren't you playing the poor, dumb girl card too well? I asked you a question!"

Privately, in the abyss of her mind, Marinette doubts Chloe is really searching for an answer, but it doesn't hurt to treat it as such.

"I'm pretty happy," she tells the pair, and almost believes the honesty of her own words. Nodding once to Chloe, she sends her warmest, most adorable smile. "Thanks for asking! I really appreciate it."

Marinette leaves with a spring in her step, to the tune of Chloe screaming into the setting sun.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Drying her increasingly long hair in a towel, Marinette stumbles past the trap door to her room and collapses onto her desk chair.

"He's out to get me," she declares to the empty room, legs aching at the grueling pace Evanson had set for the day. "One day, I'm gonna trip and bam! He'll just snap and then snap _me _like, like a twig!"

Chuckling at her own words, Marinette swivels idly in her chair, the damp towel wrapped around her neck.

As her chair slowly moves to a stop, right in front of the window, the rising moon catches her attention, hanging just above the clouds in the sky.

A smile plays on her lips, and with a heave, Marinette rises to a stand, nearly shivering as cold droplets of water drip from her hair and down her back.

"It's one of those days, huh?" she murmurs, walking sedately over to her bookcase. On her tiptoes, she barely succeeds in bringing her old CD player down into her arms.

_At least you don't need a chair anymore, _she thinks, grabbing a random CD and hauling each item through the skylight door.

Marinette steps out onto the balcony and inhales a mouthful of fresh, cold air. Below her feet, Paris glows beyond the horizon, where countless lights fill the air and far ahead, the Eiffel Tower gleams brilliantly in the night sky.

Plugging in her CD player through an extension cord, she lets a smile form on her lips, before sinking into her aging, pale blue folding chair.

Her eyes trail up to the sky, where dim stars blink in and out, a single airplane soaring past in lazy red lights.

There is a brief sound of static and, closing her eyes, she sighs, hearing a low voice sing into the air.

"Fly me to the moon," Marinette hums, letting the song wash over her ears until finally, perhaps an eternity later, she opens her eyes once more.

The crescent moon above is even higher than before, resting just above her head, a dwindling light amongst a million stars.

In moments like these, when the world around her dies away and only her thoughts remain as company, she ponders on the heaviness in her chest, the firm weight encased in her lungs.

_What are you searching for? _She asks herself, in these quiet moments, when she dares to wonder, dares to think -

Like always, there is no answer.

And Marinette (though she still does not realize it yet), letting the cold wind wrap around her shoulders, remains there - in the night, in the dark - and does not get back up for a very, very long time.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

The colder months pass by in a flurry of activity, leaving Marinette with little time to herself.

(This is, she admits quietly to herself, most likely a good thing).

"A what?" Marinette blurts out on one fine afternoon, feet tapping the tiled floor uncontrollably. "We're gonna do a what?"

Evanson pauses, a pinched look on his face as if he is physically hurting to say these words. "A county-wide competition. It'll be good practice before you try the regionals again."

"Competition," Marinette repeats in awe, feet still loudly tapping the floor. She turns to Dominique with a wide grin. "Did you hear that? Did you hear that, Dom?! DID YOU - ACK - "

Dull pain shoots through her toes as Dominique plants his foot over hers.

"Thank you for the opportunity, monsieur," Dom says politely, stone faced as Marinette dramatically sinks to the floor.

"Don't mention it," Evanson answers, just as unmoving as his favorite student, completely blind to Marinette cradling her foot on the cold tiles. "And I mean it. Don't mention it. Ever."

"Dom, _please,_" Marinette cries out, nursing her poor toes. "You were so polite, so _kind. _What happened?"

"I wouldn't dare to do otherwise, sir," Dominique says, face completely frozen, completely unforgiving, the look so unnatural on a thirteen-year-old boy, what has Evanson _done _-

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"You know," Marinette begins slyly, twirling her pen expertly in her hand. In an effort to keep her awake in classes, she had been tasked with little exercises by several classmates. "I always see you playing around with that thing. What _are _you doing?"

Already leaning away from her and their homework, Nino laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck.

"Thing?" he asks, his voice cracking at the very last second. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Marinette lets her grin widen as her eyes drift over to the tower of sound mixers lying innocently in one corner of his room.

Nino opens his mouth, only to close it quickly with a _clack. _

"This is what I get for being best friends with a _girl,_" he grumbles, already moving to pull out the equipment from under several pillow covers.

Marinette huffs, a broad smile on her lips as she hops off his bed and joins him at the corner.

"I'm trying to mess around with some things," Nino explains vaguely, opening up his old laptop and connecting several wires to it.

Marinette makes a similarly vague noise of interest, already trying to peer over Nino's shoulder to get a good look.

"It's nothing too big right now," he adds on hastily, already pulling up some sort of software program on his desktop, before none-too-gently pushing Marinette's face away when it gets too close. "And - hey! Chill, dude!"

"I can't _chill,_" Marinette protests, fumbling over the newly learned word with her accursed lisp. "I'm learning something about you! That's cool! That's great! I can't _chill._"

Nino snorts, rolling his eyes, though the back of his neck flushes a light red. "Oh god, dude, you're so, so _emotional._ I swear if I start acting like _you_ \- "

Marinette laughs and nearly chokes on her spit, much to Nino's disgust.

A few minutes later, a simple bass drum springs into motion, a very heavy sound that leans against her chest.

"I'm just experimenting at the moment," Nino says, flicking a few switches on the sound board and adjusting several bars. "But they're all things that DJs can do really easily."

Marinette stares blankly as the music becomes more intricate, with more and more sounds added in (A guitar? Mixed with electric bass? How _ambitious!_), or different layers taken and changed.

Until everything suddenly stops.

"What the," Marinette rears her head back to look at Nino. "What's wrong? Why'd you stop?"

Nino blinks. "Well, uh, I was only going to show you a little - "

"_What?!_"

"It's not that good yet," Nino begins, only to stop as he is forcefully shaken back and forth.

"_What?_" Marinette hisses again, hands gripping Nino's shoulders as she continues on, "Nino! _Nino! _This is, this is amazing!"

"Is it?" Nino asks dazedly, head still rolling up and down.

"Yes!" Marinette squawks, waving a hand enthusiastically at the computer screen in front of them. "It sounds really good! Sure, maybe you feel like you don't know what you're doing, but, but, it sounds so good!"

Nino coughs, whacking her hands away to pound his chest.

"Well," he says, after clearing his throat. "I mean, I guess. Thanks."

"I would know," Marinette tells him rather confidently. "I have pretty good ears."

Nino narrows his eyes. "Do you now."

"And I can't believe you were hiding such a talent," Marinette blabbers on. "It's been months, Nino! Months!"

"I haven't seen what you do after school either," Nino points out as he packs away his equipment.

Marinette pauses in thought.

"Huh," she says slowly. "I guess, if you really want, you could come see my competition next month."

_Yeah, _Marinette thinks, suddenly liking the idea more and more as time goes on, _I could show off some stuff! Why not? _

She then lets the idea run a second circuit around her head.

_Wait a second, _she then thinks right after. _Nino? Meeting Dominique?_

"You know what!" Marinette suddenly says, loudly, after a long pause, "Maybe not? Maybe not a good idea, oh no, no, _no_ \- "

She is interrupted when Nino rests a firm hand on her shoulder and looks straight into her eyes.

"I'm going."

"... okay."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

In hindsight, it had completely been everyone's fault but her own.

Sitting on a bench in the local park, Marinette hands over a rice ball with great reluctance, teeth gritting at the action.

"Yes!" Kim crows, snatching the snack before she could have second thoughts. "Thanks for that, Marinette!"

"I'll have you know that any other day, I could've done it!" Marinette shoots back. Muttering under her breath, she tears into her own rice ball and gladly accepts the sympathetic pat on the back from Rose.

"That is entirely possible," Max says, pushing up his glasses from his spot next to the water fountain. "And at the same time, most likely not."

"Yeah, you're not exactly the queen of grace," Alix adds on, a smirk on her lips and a sandwich in her hands.

Nino shakes his head. "Unlucky, dude."

Betrayed from all sides, Marinette stuffs her face further with rice, unable to even look at Kim as he swallows down part of her lunch.

"Hey, maybe next time," Kim says, perhaps trying to seem consoling but only achieving to appear obnoxious with his mouth stuffed to the brim. He swallows and adds on, "I mean, you still won't beat me because I'm great as - " and then proceeds to say an unfamiliar word.

Marinette blinks. Her grasp on French is pretty stable at this point, but from time to time, her classmates will say words that are more recent than what the dictionary has to offer.

To her right, Rose lets out a soft gasp, even as Juleka rolls her eyes.

Nino lurches forward, hands covering Kim's rice-stained mouth in some belated attempt at censorship.

"Dude," Nino hisses none-too-quietly. "Are you serious? She doesn't know that word."

Swallowing quickly, Marinette swiftly looks back and forth.

Alix scoffs. "No way."

"Yes way," Nino says insistently back.

A little too gleefully, Marinette pipes in, "What word? You mean - " and then clumsily repeats the same word.

"Marinette, _no,_" Rose says, hands covering her mouth.

"Why, why?" Marinette asks, perhaps more eager than she should be to learn her first swear in French. "What's so wrong with - " and then says the word again.

A vaguely strangled noise escapes Nino's throat.

"Marinette," Rose begins gently, placing a hand on Marinette's shoulder. "That is, um, a very, very bad word, and, um, it's not a very nice thing to say."

Unhelpfully, Kim pipes in, "Sure, but people use it all the time. It's, like, perfect for every situation."

_Oh my god, _Marinette then thinks. _Did I just learn how to say fuck?_

"Holy _fuck,_" Marinette says out loud, testing the word and sending another round of gasps across the park. "Fuck?"

Kim slaps her across the back. "There we go! Not so hard, right?"

"Yes!" Marinette beams, suddenly forgetting her previous grudge against Kim. "Fuck!"

"Oh my god," Nino says into his hands. "Your parents are going to kill me."

"Oh my _fuck!_"

"Marinette, Marinette," Kim clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "You have much to learn. Try saying - "

_Knowledge is power, _Marinette thinks, watching as Nino jumps onto Kim with the cry of a soldier who has nothing to lose. Her smile widens at the thought. _And now I have much, much power._

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

**notes!**

**\- this is the last chapter before the official timeline of canon "starts," and I will be honest with you, I have no idea where we're going from here. **

**\- I wanted to spend this chapter to "expand" and deepen the relationships Marinette has with the people around her. I feel many people in the fandom tend to forget that in the face of focusing on her relationship with Adrien. Also, I am a sucker of classroom interactions. **

**\- I'm really happy to see that so many people really seem to like this Marinette! Obviously, the original Marinette is brilliant and a great heroine, so thanks for giving this one a chance! I hope the balance between retrospective and forward-thinking Marinette is okay!**

**\- I'm curious to see what people think may happen in the timeline now, considering the many differences between here and canon - or, what differences right now you enjoy seeing! **

**\- A special thank you to Dame Amaryllis for the suggestions to correct the French from the beginning chapter, and everyone else who has been sharing their own experiences with France/Paris. **

**\- Lastly, Marinette is here to tell you to take your time! Grow into yourself, with friends/family at your own pace - no need to rush!**

**thank you to everyone reading PTSB! With the response from "if the shoe fits," and here, I really don't deserve you all!**

**\- SE**


	5. Chapter 5: Realizing

**Chapter 5: Realizing**

**.**

**.**

**.**

A week before the county competition, Marinette deftly wipes her brow, chest heaving up and down.

"Maybe you could jump higher?" Dominique suggests, tossing her a water bottle as he pats his face down with a towel.

Catching the bottle with one hand, Marinette hums in consideration.

"I could," she acknowledges, and drains the bottle in one take.

Dominique crinkles his nose in disgust at the display.

There is a quiet pause, broken only by the heater humming on the other side of the room.

Marinette rolls her shoulders, ready to count the seconds Evanson takes to use the restroom, until Dominique clears his throat.

"So, uh," Dominique begins haltingly. He clears his throat again when Marinette turns to look at him. "Just in case you didn't know. No matter what happens next week… we're still good."

It takes longer than it should for Marinette to understand his words.

_He means the competition, _she realizes, her heart suddenly clenching.

It's a little ridiculous, she'll have to admit. Marinette doesn't really need the approval of a thirteen-year-old, but still, almost without a thought, her lips quirk upwards at the words.

"I know that now," she tells him quietly, nearly afraid to break the fragility in the air, but far too late to stop the warmth in chest. "Thanks."

Dominique coughs once, shortly, and vigorously rubs his face with his towel.

"Good," he says, clearing his throat one last time, the tips of his ears darkening. "And don't ever forget it."

_You're ridiculous, _she says to herself, smile widening even as Evanson announces his return by flinging the door wide open. _But that's not a bad thing. _

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Dear Marinette,_

_The weather here is mild, as usual. My mother has been grumbling about it for a few weeks now - I think she misses winter in Paris!_

"I can't believe you still think you belong here looking like _that._"

_School is pretty boring, but luckily, there are a ton of dance schools in the area. Speaking of which, I heard you're doing another competition!_

"What?" Marinette exclaims, nearly choking on her lunch. "How does she know?!"

"_Hey! _I'm still talking to you!"

_If you have the chance, make sure to record it and send it to me! I'd love to see what new, ridiculous tricks you've managed to slip into the routine under Evanson's nose._

"Can't you afford to wear something better than those dirty old rags? You're literally polluting the air with your hideous outfits."

_Tell everyone in the studio I said hi! And good luck on the competition! Don't forget about your favorite partner here in Italy, haha._

_Love,_

_Emma_

"Are you even listening to me? _Marinette Dupain-Cheng!_"

"Recording, huh?" Marinette swallows another bite and gently folds the letter. "I could do that."

In her very next blink, the letter is quickly swiped from her hands.

"What is _this_," Chloe says disdainfully, holding the crinkled paper between two pinched fingers. "Ugh, a letter? What are we, preschoolers?"

Marinette takes a slow bite of her sandwich and remains silent, curious to see what may happen next.

"I bet you wrote it yourself," Chloe says with a sneer. She lets out a short, sharp laugh, leaning forward with a mocking voice. "Poor, poor Marinette! So desperate for friends you're starting to make them up!"

Slowly swallowing, Marinette then smiles.

"Does that mean you're offering?" Marinette asks, too slow to hide the sly edge to her words.

Chloe blinks. "What?"

"What did you say before?" Marinette squints her eyes. "Something about my clothes?"

"Well, duh," Chloe says, recovering quickly to roll her eyes. She waves a hand at Marinette's plain, navy blue skirt and white shirt. "I've never seen an outfit as hideous as yours."

"So," Marinette says. "You're offering then?"

Chloe stomps her feet, temper flaring through. "_What are you talking about? Offering what?_"

"To take me shopping, of course!" Marinette says cheerfully, crumpling up the plastic wrap in her hands. "That's what friends do, right?"

If looks could kill, Marinette would surely be dead by now.

"We're not friends!" Chloe shrieks, catching the attention of nearly half the courtyard. "You have no friends! You're just dumb _and _crazy!"

Marinette shrugs and plucks Emma's letter out of Chloe's hands. "That's too bad then. I guess I"ll just wear these plain clothes forever."

She gives her loveliest smile, the one that sends her father gushing for a good while. "Thanks for caring, though!"

"_What?_ I don't care! Don't go saying whatever you want, you freak! Hey! Where are you going? _I'm not done with you!_"

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"What t-time was it again?" Nino whispers to her, teeth chattering as they waited on line.

Huddled next to Nino and the rest of their classmates, Marinette shivers involuntarily. "Uh, it's in the a-afternoon. At three."

"C-Cool."

Across the stadium, a piercing whistle blows through the early spring air.

"Lahiffe!" D'Argencourt calls, crossing his arms. "You're up next!"

Nino waves a reluctant hand. "Later."

"B-Bye," Marinette says, leaning into Juleka for some sort of warmth. Juleka gives a sympathetic pat, somehow unmoved by the chill.

All too soon, Marinette is called out to the front and, on hobbling legs, she walks up to the field.

In the center of the field, kickball in hand, Kim hollers, "You ready to lose, Marinette?"

"Over my dead body!" Marinette spits back, shuffling once before getting into position.

Covering his arms on the next base over, Nino flashes her a quick thumbs up.

Kim rears his arm back and, proving that he takes every sport too seriously, sends the kickball hurtling towards Marinette at rapid speeds.

With barely enough time to widen her eyes, Marinette swings her leg back and forward as hard as she can, only for her heel to slip on the dirt below.

The world suddenly spinning, there is a fleeting moment of confusion before something slams right into her chest, knocking the breath out of her.

_What, _she thinks dizzily, the cold ground seeping through her clothes, _what the fuck - _

" - nette! Marinette!" several voices call out to her, but one particular voice stands out above the rest.

"RUN, YOU FOOL!" Alix's voice roars through the air and, like on auto-pilot, Marinette stumbles to her feet, dashing towards what she thinks is her right.

Her vision slowly clears, and passing by Nino's stunned body, Marinette sprints past the bases, only feeling the wind across her cheeks.

The opposing team scrambles for the ball, but it's too late, in record time, Marinette slides onto home base, much to her team's cheers.

"YES!" Marinette sinks to her knees, hands upraised to accept the cheers.

Standing upright next to her, D'Argencourt clears his throat. When all the noise finally dies, he says shortly, "Out."

"What?" A sudden uproar fills the benches.

D'Argencourt rolls his eyes and pointedly says. "You didn't even use your leg."

With a groan, Marinette falls to the floor, arms outstretched like a starfish.

"What is this body even good for?" she grumbles, flopping her arms as Nino gives her sympathetic pat.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Tightening her tie a bit _too _tight, Marinette announces to the mostly empty dressing room, "I'm going to throw up."

"Do it, and I'll kill you," Dominique says flatly, completely unmoved. He leans back on an armchair, hair slicked back and tie neatly tucked in.

"You wouldn't," Marinette hisses back. Pacing back and forth, she desperately wipes her palms on the fabric of her skirt.

"Watch me," Dominique tilts his chin forward, eyes flashing dangerously.

All too soon, an announcer calls their names, and Marinette's stomach suddenly lurches.

A warm, steady hand takes her own and, startled, she looks up, Dominique's hazel eyes bright under the bright lights.

"We're still good," he tells her firmly.

She pauses, thoughtful, and then smiles.

"Yeah. We're still good."

They step out onto the stage, hand in hand, a familiar white table off to the side, the stage not as grand as before, but still quite large.

Inhaling deeply, Marinette turns to face Dominique.

In the exact moment when the sound of trumpets blast through the air, Marinette grabs hold of Dominique's hands, jumps, and _slides _through his legs.

Off in the faint distance, several gasps escape from the audience, but Marinette isn't done with her flashy steps.

_We're still good, _she reminds herself, leaping forward into a twirl. At that sudden thought, she lets out a laugh, the sound nearly startling Dominique before he gives his own quiet smile.

In a near instant, as if time had suddenly tripped forward, their routine finishes minutes later. Hand in hand, Marinette gives a grandiose bow, Dominique following shortly after in a more subdued gesture.

They walk off the stage to thunderous applause and smugly, Marinette bumps her shoulder none-too-gently into Dominique.

_Yeah, _she thinks, nearly falling when Dominique shoves her back. _We're still good. _

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Marinette loosens her tie, brushing past other competitors and dragging Dominique along as well.

"Nino!" she calls, waving her free arm frantically back and forth. Her eyes search the crowd. "Nino! NINO - "

"I'm right here," Nino hisses, smacking her arm as he glances warily around him.

"Nino!" Marinette exclaims, graciously lowering her voice. Her knees vibrate with energy. "Did you see it? Did you? So? So? What did you think?"

Rolling his eyes, Nino gives a warm smile. "That was totally awesome, dude! I didn't know you'd have it in you! And I mean that literally!"

Marinette pauses.

"I," She finally says. "I am going to take that as a compliment."

To her side, Dominique coughs loudly to cover a laugh.

Oh, where are her manners?

"Nino, this is Dominique, my dancing partner," Marinette introduces, passing over Dominique's hand to Nino. Carefully, Nino accepts it. "Dom, this is Nino! We're school friends! Best friends!"

Peering at Nino's cap and sweatpants, Dominique cordially shakes Nino's hand. "It's nice to meet you."

A little unsurely, Nino nods back. "Uh, same here, dude."

There is a prolonged moment of silence until Dominique narrows his eyes. Slowly, he says, "You know, Marinette once tripped and slammed her head into our mirrors so hard, the entire frame shattered."

"Um," Marinette says.

Something in Nino's posture relaxes.

"Last month, she tried to catch a pigeon with her pencil," Nino begins hesitantly. Bolstered by Dominique's vague noise of interest, he continues, "She missed and the pencil flew into the water fountain instead. The whole thing clogged up and a pipe burst open."

There is another long moment of silence.

"Uh," Marinette says. "What?"

"Well, I hope you'll keep in contact," Dominique finally says, his voice lighter than before.

Nino grins back, the expression sending alarm bells ringing in Marinette's head.

"Here's my number," Dominique continues pleasantly.

"Guys?" Marinette asks hesitantly as Nino primly accepts the written note.

"I'll keep you updated," Nino says, and it sounds strangely like a promise.

Dominique sends a smile, the smile that more than one old lady has fallen prey for. "Please do."

"Guys?" Marinette asks a little more desperately. "Hello?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Squinting darkly at the dough in her hands, Marinette carefully folds the ends, in and out, in and out.

"Good," her mother says approvingly, her own hands moving twice as fast. "Now dab a little water between your fingers to close it in."

Moments later, Marinette proudly displays a single dumpling, unevenly folded on the sides.

"_Not bad,_" her mother says wryly, a smile on her lips as she continues to speak in Mandarin. "_WIth enough practice, you'll be an expert in no time._"

Marinette groans, snatching another piece of dough and placing a spoonful of filling in the middle. "_I don't want to practice, I want to be an expert now!_"

Her mother laughs and shakes her head. "_You should know more than others how important practice can be._"

With a sheepish smile, Marinette gives a sound of agreement and continues on with her task.

Later that night, stomach full of perhaps a thousand dumplings, Marinette surveys her room, the pale blue walls painfully bare.

"Do I need more hobbies?" she asks herself out loud, collapsing onto the white couch her mother had found on sale a year ago. Her bookcase is filled to the brim with CDs, and there are few posters of her favorite jazz bands.

She doesn't really feel the need, she's pretty happy with this life.

Or, as happy as she can be.

Passing by her fairly new television and exiting through the skylight door, Marinette walks to the very edge of her balcony, relishing the cold winds dancing past her cheeks.

_It could be worse, _a voice reminds her, sounding a lot like _her _from before. _It could be much, much worse. _

Marinette smiles, arms outreached to better feel the wind brushing through her shirt, through her hair.

"Don't I know it," she mutters to herself, eyes closed and listening to the traffic below, cars honking and people chattering through the streets. "Don't I know it too well."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

All too soon, summer reaches out and grabs Marinette into an inescapable hold.

After placing first in the county competition, much to Emma's delayed delight, the dance studio has reached a peak in popularity with new entrees.

"Take this group," Evanson orders, gesturing vaguely to the group of girls behind him.

"You're not even paying me," Marinette protests, but stands up anyways.

"You should be paying _me _for having to deal with you," Evanson snarks back. Off to the side, Sofia sends an apologetic smile.

Marinette sighs and tightens her ponytail. "What about Dominique?"

"What about him? He's useless," Evanson waves his hand, which is difficult to believe. Marinette blinks at the thought. Polite, well-mannered Dominique? Useless?

Without another word, Evanson throws a thumb to another corner where Dominique silently stretches.

Not even moments later, the group of girls behind Evanson suddenly bursts into a round of giggles, the sounds flooding the quiet studio. Their eyes are trained on Dominique.

_Was that, _Marinette scrunches her nose in confusion. _Was that supposed to explain anything?_

It doesn't take long for Marinette to charm the group, all younger than her, and by the time the yearly studio recital comes along, she finds herself back in a suit, dancing with each and every one of them as lead.

"They voted on it," Evanson tells her with a shrug. "You've done it before. It should be fine, right?"

"You've never had that much confidence in me before," Marinette says, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

"Well, you don't have a choice," Evanson then says, sounding much more like himself. "Now go learn those parts."

Grumbling, Marinette returns to the studio, and the only thing stopping from her outright complaining is the very real fact that she looks absolutely fantastic in a suit.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Between the days spent hanging out with Nino and helping out the bakery, Marinette's summer fills up rather quickly.

By the time the regional competition is once again announced, Marinette is once again placed on an enormous stage, heels on her feet and a full-length dress on her back.

She takes in a deep breath, Dominique's hands in her own, and by the end of the day, they are placed as runner-up in the entire competition.

"Well, who would've thought," Evanson says, no sign of surprise evident on his face. To the side, Marinette slumps to the floor, her legs giving out from underneath. "This means you're qualified for nationals."

"Nationals?" Marinette squeaks.

"It depends," Evanson says, pointing a finger to Dominique. "He'll be too old by then. They might not allow it."

Marinette stills, the sudden realization of Dominique moving on to the next age bracket hitting her like stones.

"I'll be graduating in a few weeks from this class," Dominique explains. A little quieter, he adds, "And by then, my parents might want me to focus on other things instead."

The floor suddenly becomes a blur, the black carpet mixing with the bright ceiling lights above.

"What," Marinette whispers, her head spinning at how _pressing _time actually is. Too quickly, she begins to question the future and what it will bring. What will she do next year? And the year after that?

When Marinette becomes an adult once more, where will she go from there?

(_A lone street lamp flickers in the dark, the deep orange glow flooding the alleyway, burning her eyes as heat escapes her side, warm liquid drenching her arm - _)

A sharp pain hits her forehead and Marinette blinks rapidly, staring dumbly at Dominique's fingers.

"Hey, snap out of it," he says, a scowl on his face. Despite the harsh words, his voice is incredibly gentle. "You'll be okay."

Rubbing desperately at her eyes, Marinette sniffles, peering into Dominique's own hazel eyes. "How can you tell? And what about you?"

She sniffles again and croaks out, "Am I ever going to see you again?"

Dominique snorts. He shifts from one leg to another in his crouched position. "Are you serious? That's a dumb question."

He pauses for a moment before giving a softer smile.

"Of course you will, stupid."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

The morning of the new school year begins at a terrible place - the very moment Marinette wakes up, she finds herself stuck with a song she cannot name.

"I just, I can't explain it," she tells her mother at the dining table, pouring a generous amount of milk into her bowl because she wants to grow _tall_. "It was super catchy, but I just can't remember the words."

"That's the worst kind of feeling," her father agrees, grabbing his own bowl of cereal. "I hate it when that happens."

"It'll come to you eventually," her mother says reassuringly. "You don't have to force it."

Marinette groans, shovelling more cereal into her mouth. "It starts off so cool too. There's a bunch of plucked strings, like arpeggios? And then - "

"As much as I want to hear your nerd talk," her father interrupts gently, a laugh escaping him. "You're gonna be late if you keep this up."

Marinette quickly checks the time on her phone and promptly chokes. "Oh no, oh no, oh no!"

"Here, take these," her father passes a box of pastries - macarons, her _favorite_. "Maybe that'll make your teacher forgive you."

Laughing at the suggestion, Marinette graciously accepts the gift and gives both her parents a quick goodbye.

Marinette steps out of the bakery with a nameless tune still stuck in her head.

"Oh my god," she mutters, walking to the crosswalk. "How did it go again? Strings, strings, then what?"

_It went like, like, _Marinette squints, waiting patiently for the glowing signs to change. _Like…_

"_In the daytime - "_

"In the daytime, what?" she asks out loud, and huffs when her mind remains blank. Staring at the road ahead, she blinks when an elderly man hobbles onto the street.

To her left, a car approaches rapidly, moving closer and closer with _no signs of stopping - _

Not even bothering to think, Marinette lurches forward, snatching the old man's arm and pulling _backward_.

_Holy fuck, _she thinks, heart beating rapidly and macaroons at her feet.

"Oh my god," she says, adrenaline still pumping through her veins. "Are you okay, sir?"

"I'm quite alright," the old man says cheerfully, his accent _clearly _placing him as Chinese. It's no wonder. Marinette doesn't know any other kind of person who would have the balls to pull off that sort of stunt. "Thank you, young lady."

Laughing in spite of herself, Marinette waves off his apologies and swiftly places the fallen treats back into the box. With those same set of iron balls, the old man swipes a macaroon and downs it like it had been gifted to him.

"Delicious," he then says.

Almost impressed by the _audacity_, Marinette's lips quirk upward as she says wryly, "I'm glad you like them."

Bowing quickly, she waves goodbye and heads off to school, that one stupid song still stuck in her head.

She is completely unaware of the heavy stare that follows her back.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Stumbling into the classroom and barely making it to roll call, Marinette makes a beeline for her usual seat, only to find Nino in the row ahead.

"Dude, what happened?" Marinette whispers, easily taking the seat next to him.

Nino shrugs. "I got moved up."

"Um, excuse me, _Marinette Dupain-Cheng,_" a rather familiar, nasally voice interrupts. "But you're sitting in _Adrien's _seat."

Marinette slowly turns to face a familiar bright yellow jacket.

"Chloe," she says as warmly as possible. Her eyes widen to show off her adorable blue eyes. "I knew it was you! No one says my name like you do."

There is a brief pause before Chloe scoffs, tossing her blonde ponytail behind her shoulders. "Of course it's me. And _you_ need to get out of that seat because _Adrien _is going to sit there."

"Macaron?" Marinette asks, offering one to Nino, who gladly accepts it. "My dad made them."

"Ugh, are you listening to me?" Chloe seethes, stomping her foot in the process. Next to her, Sabrina nods rapidly back and forth. "Adrien _needs _to sit there so I can sit behind him! Go sit next to that new girl if you want a change of pace!"

"Adrien?" Nino repeats with a mouthful of pastry.

"New girl?" Marinette repeats as well, eyes bright at the thought. Her eyes trail over to a young girl with beautiful auburn hair and a pair of glasses framing her eyes.

As if they had rehearsed it before, both Chloe and Sabrina laugh in tandem.

"You must have been living under a rock," Chloe begins to say, even as Marinette shoots up from her seat to move to the next row. "He's _only _a famous model - wait a second, where are you going?! I was talking to you!"

"New girl!" Marinette says delightedly. "I was the new girl too last year!"

She offers a hand and gladly shakes the one given to her.

"I'm Marinette!" she says, vigorously shaking the hand up and down. There is a momentous pause when deja vu hits her like a truck.

"Alya," the new girl says confidently, distracting Marinette far enough from the sudden surge of vertigo. "Nice to meet you."

"Alya!" Marinette repeats, incredibly pleased. The name feels nostalgic, but it's unlikely they've ever met, considering Alya's reaction. "What a great name! So nice to meet you!"

"Yeah, same here, but," Alya sends a bemused glance at their still shaking hands. "How long are we going to do this for?"

"Until the end of time," Marinette answers solemnly back before cracking a smile. She hums considerably.

"I don't want you sitting over here without a friendly face." she says, remembering her own first day of school. Where would she have been without Nino?

"Oh, but I just can't leave Nino alone," Marinette places her free hand on her cheek. "He's so lost without me."

"I heard that!" Nino's voice interjects from behind her. "Lying to someone you just met? What would your mom say?"

Alya takes a careful look between Marinette and their joint hands, to Nino, then finally to Chloe.

"I'd hate for that girl to think you're doing what she wants," Alya whispers firmly, pausing only to accept Marinette's offered macaroon.

Their hands finally break apart so that Alya can present a cartoon of a well-muscled blonde woman on her phone. "Like Majestia says, 'All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.'"

"Good people, huh?" Marinette repeats, a smile on her face. In the front of the classroom, Bustier finally begins her lesson. "That sounds awfully familiar."

"Well, I'll have to agree with you," she then says to Alya. "It's never good to encourage Chloe. That's what we call negative reinforcement."

Turning to face Bustier, Alya sends her a sideways glance, her lips quirking upwards.

"That's exactly what that is."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

As the class disperses to their respective outside classes, Marinette scoops up her teal backpack and turns to Alya.

"So, what do you have now?" she asks, hoisting on the bag and dumping her pencils inside as well.

Alya taps a finger on her cheek. "My schedule said to go to the library."

"The library!" Marinette clicks her tongue in disappointment. They walk towards the classroom door. "I'm going to the stadium. Do you know where to go?"

"Probably. It's upstairs, right?"

Marinette laughs with a nod, stopping at the top of the metal stairs. "Yeah, but I'll just show you! That's easier!"

"Nino!" she then calls out to the courtyard, waving a hand frantically back and forth. Her eyes fail to catch him. "Nino! I'm showing Alya where the library is! I'll be late!"

At the very bottom of the stairs, a few meters away, Nino plugs his ear in. "I'm literally right here."

Had he been waiting for her? Marinette coos at the thought.

"Great! So if you haven't heard, I'LL BE SHOWING ALYA - "

"I heard you!" Nino interrupts, face flushing as more and more students glance their way. He drags a hand down his face. "Just go. Go!"

Marinette beams, waving one last farewell before tugging Alya up the next flight of stairs.

"So," Alya starts as they walk up the stairs, the metal clunking underneath their shoes. There is a very bright look in her eyes. "Are you always like this?"

Marinette sends her most widest, innocent look. It's particularly effective when paired with her lovely blue eyes. "Like what? I have no idea what you're talking about."

Alya lets out a laugh and leaves it at that.

They turn a corner and enter the library, a quiet place with polished wooden furniture and an endless number of books.

"It's a pretty nice place," Marinette says in a hushed voice, smiling at Alya's widening eyes.

"Yeah," Alya says, setting down her backpack before turning to Marinette. "Well, thanks for taking me. Sorry you'll be late, though."

Marinette waves the apology away. "Don't worry about it! D'Argencourt loves me!"

They share a smile and Marinette turns to leave, that same, annoying, _incessant _song ringing even louder in her head.

"In the daytime," she mumbles, exiting the library. "In the daytime?"

Just as she is about to reach the stairs, a sudden tremor hits the entire area, the floor shaking and sending Marinette tumbling to the ground.

Heart racing and palms stinging from hitting the cement too hard, Marinette stumbles to her feet, grabbing onto the nearby railing for support.

_What the hell, _she thinks, knees still trembling from the vibrating floor. _Is this an earthquake? Does France even get earthquakes?_

Screams begin to quickly fill the air and, against a warning voice that sounds a lot like Nino, Marinette dashes back into the library.

"_Get to lower ground!_" she hollers across the room, pushing a nearby student to the entrance.

"Marinette!" a somewhat familiar voice grabs her attention. Racing past the students rushing to the exit, Marinette joins Alya at the security monitors behind the front desk.

Following Alya's pointed finger, Marinette lets her jaw drop at the massive rock _titan _that marches past the school's front doors.

_What the actual fuck, _she thinks, eyes transfixed on the being that _should not exist. _

Through the open windows, a guttural roar shakes the entire building. "KIMMM!"

Marinette's head spins even as her mind remains awfully blank.

Alya whips out her phone, her entire body vibrating with energy. "He's looking for somebody! Oh, he _must_ be a student! Holy crud, this is _so_ cool! That means he might have transformed into a _real-life supervillain!_"

"Supervillain," Marinette repeats, almost incoherently.

"GPS, check! Battery, check! Alright, I'm _so _outta here."

"Outta here?" Marinette whips her head back in alarm, right as Alya races to the library's exit. "Outta where?"

Alya turns briefly, eyes bright and voice incredibly eager. "When there's a supervillain, a superhero's not far behind!"

_That, _Marientte thinks dumbly, _that is a very clever use of deductive reasoning._

"And there's no way I'm missing out on that!" Alya continues, crossing her arms and slashing them forward before disappearing through the doors.

Marinette blinks, still completely floored, and turns back to the security monitors, where the colossal rock giant stomps through the streets. His feet leave behind giant cracks in the cement.

"Wait a minute," she then whispers, a buzzing noise building up in her head. Her head lurches back to the doors as she yells, through the empty library, "You're going to follow it? _Are you crazy?_"

She pauses, only to squawk out, "Am I the only one panicking here?! HOW IS THIS HAPPENING?"

_In the daytime, in the daytime, in the daytime -_

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Considering that school is no longer in session (due to a massive walking _rock_), Marinette hurries home, stepping through the bakery. Her stomach turns at the thought of Alya chasing after something like _that. _

"Mom?" she calls out, checking the back before walking up to her home. "Dad?"

The lack of response could be a good or bad thing. Crossing her fingers, Marinette climbs up to her own room, pulling up the local news channel on her computer.

"_As incredible as it may seem, Paris is now under attack by a supervillain,_" the newscaster's voice rings throughout her empty room. "_The police have been struggling to keep the situation under control._"

"_How,_" Marinette protests, violently waving an arm at the screen. She grabs her phone to call her parents, just in case. "How the actual _fuck_."

The noise in her head builds up monumentally, even as she plugs in her mother's phone number, like an orchestra rapidly reaching its climax, like a buzzing sensation that seems to never end.

_In the daytime, in the daytime, in the daytime - _

"This isn't really the right time," she complains, swiveling her chair around back to her computer, fingers raised above the call button. "I've got more things to worry about than a stupid _song_. In the daytime, blahblah, in the daytime - "

Her voice dies in her throat.

Numbly, she feels her phone slipping from her fingers, a sudden clatter of noise as it hits the ground.

The sound seems incredibly far away. In fact, everything seems so far away in comparison to the single, decorative box lying patiently on her desk.

(like church bells tolling, like a gong resounding, like broken glass _finally _shattering)

_In the daytime, I'm Marinette! Just a normal girl, with a normal life. _

"Oh my god," she whispers.

_But there's something about me that no one knows yet._

"Oh my _god._"

_Because I have a secret._

"OH MY GOD - "

_MIRACULOUS, SIMPLY THE BEST, UP TO THE TEST WHEN THINGS GO WROOONG -_

"That's me," Marinette says dumbly, the world spinning around her. "I, holy _shit, I'm _Marinette."

And Marinette (who has now finally realized it), picks up the box with trembling fingers, stares at the intricate designs carved into the wood, and finds herself with the great urge to hurl it out of the window.

Instead, her eyes remain glued to her hands, that same ridiculous, life-ruining song still playing in her head.

(Holding the ornate box in her hands, she begins to consider the very likely possibility that she is, in fact, the dumbest person alive).

Like a failing record player, time restarts again, the news on her computer catching her dizzy attention - there are flashing images of the rock giant, _of a victim, _roaring through the streets, hurling cars into buildings, people screaming, wailing, crying -

And Marinette, realizing for once who she really is, cradles the cold, polished box with a sense of growing dread.

_This is ridiculous, _she thinks, clutching onto the box in near desperation. _I can't - there's no way - I don't even - _

Her shoulders heave, something tight clenching in her throat, her stomach twisting back and forth.

Marinette looks blankly at the intricate designs on the wood, the patterns swirling dangerously in her eyes, almost accusingly.

_This is on _you, a voice whispers, curling around her neck like a noose waiting to fall. _Are you going to hide, like a coward? Who's to say people won't get hurt? Who's to say someone will help? -_ an image of Alya, crushed, unrecognizable, her beautiful hair drenched in blood -_ are you going to leave them alone, helpless, only looking after yourself, like always? - _

Marinette drily swallows.

Then, without thinking, without considering the consequences, without understanding the full weight behind her name, she slowly, tentatively, opens the wooden box.

(she isn't too sure what to expect, isn't too sure what she _should _be expecting, but consistency is key and - )

And, as if it had known her thoughts all along - a single ring, dark as night with pearls of green, sits on black fabric: resting, _waiting patiently... _for her.

**.**

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**.**

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

**notes!**

**\- More dance scenes, some classmate scenes, and the introduction of Alya! Hopefully it went as you would expect. **

**\- and aise your hand if you expected this! From the very beginning, Marinette was destined for the Cat Miraculous - hopefully you were able to pick up on those slight hints! The reasons as to _why _are still unknown, but I''m sure some of you have picked on a few of them already. With this huge change in "canon," there's a lot that can be done to create similar parallels between here and there, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on what you think that might be!**

**\- A lot of people seem to like Dominique and Evanson, and I'm super glad to hear that! I'm very fond of them, especially Dominique, so this won't be the last of them! (Dominique and Nino may or may not have secret meetings in hopes of coming up with a plan to decrease the amount of _damage _Marinette does on a regular basis. Nino, at least, is sincere in his plans. Dominique, unfortunately, is only in it to see some more stuff destroyed). **

**\- Hopefully, this chapter delivered well - I'm excited to show you all the next steps, where finally, our two main heroes will meet! **

**Thank you again for reading!**

**\- SE**


End file.
